With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The TV was perched on a crate made for beer,
And there was St Nicholas slumped in his chair.
With presentless children unsuspecting in bed,
Trophyless decades swirled through his head.
The season half over, twenty points from the top,
His primary dream was avoiding the drop.
When out from the street came a thundering roar!
His neighbour the Scouse fan was singing the score.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
To tell him to piss off or he’d get the bash.
The moon glistened brightly on freshly broke glass,
From beer bottles thrown and strewn on the grass.
When, what to his heartbroken eyes should appear?
But eight red-and-black wearing gloating reindeer.
AC Milan fans they became in the eighties,
Thanks to treats left in stockings by Franco Baresi.
The looks on their faces, so smug and so lame,
He said STFU and he called them by name;
“Now DASHER, now DANCER, now PRANCER and VIXEN!
On COMET, on CUPID, on DONNER and BLITZEN!
You can send those self-satisfied smirks on their way,
I’m going to work now, so hitch up the sleigh!”
As off to his factory he duly absconded,
His beloved club’s history he now sadly pondered.
A loyal supporter for sixty four years,
And nothing to show but frustration and tears.
Whenever they get to a final, they choke.
They have a great season, the next year they’re broke!
Coaches and players, they come and they go,
To Barcelona and Chelsea for double the dough.
He arrived at the North Pole, hopelessly bleak,
He hasn’t seen Mrs Claus for over a week.
She left without warning, completely fed up,
He’d been in a sulk since they crashed from the Cup.
His eyes were all bloodshot, his clothes were dishevelled,
He looked like a demon, he smelt like the Devil.
And just when you thought it’s as bad as it gets,
He opened the door and his elves’ eyes he met.
The happy wee workers can never be sacked,
Because they’re fully unionised and collectively backed.
After forming a syndicate with wages hard-won,
They’re all equal shareholders in AFC Dons.
You wonder why this causes Santa such pique?
Well who do you think knocked his team out last week?
He ran to his office, slammed the door in depression,
He wondered how he would let out his aggression.
When out of the black came a knock on the door,
He queried what more ills today had in store.
He let out a sigh, he uttered a curse,
He concluded that life couldn’t get any worse.
Then in came the fairy, “Santa have you a minute?
I’ve just found this Christmas tree where shall I put it?”
Nick’s spirit was broken, enough of this farce!
“CHRISTMAS IS CANCELLED! STICK THE TREE UP YOUR ARSE!”
Categories: Other Football Topics
A grassroots sports photography enthusiast based in Auckland, New Zealand, and a fan of the most magnificent football club on earth - A.S. Roma.