I found myself with a free half hour this evening... Would love to see any World Cup related puns you can think of added in!
Twas the night before the World Cup, when all through the land,
Not a player like Sterling, had one steady hand.
The jerseys were hung by the boots with care,
In hopes that the trophy soon would be there.
The supporters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of 40 yarders danced in their heads.
And I in my scarf, wife in the bath
Had just settled my brain, for a nail-biting first half.
When right on the news there arose such a clatter,
Another moronic display, from good old Sepp Blatter.
Away from Qatar, they said in a flash.
Tore open the conspiracy and exposed all the cash.
The badge on the breast of the new chosen foe,
Put fire in the bellies of players like Ronaldo.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a vuvuzela and a ringing in the ear.
With a little Iniesta, so lively and quick,
With a rabona, a step-over and a well-placed free kick.
More rapid than eagles, Neymar and Hulk came,
The ref whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Suarez! now, Modric! now, Hernandez and Lovren!
Now, Webo! Now, Mata! now, now Cahill and Robben!
To the top of the pitch! to the jump of the wall!
Now pass away! Pass away! Pass away the ball!"
And then, with a kicking, I heard from the box,
The brooding defender hand cut down the Ox.
As he drew in his head, and was turning around,
His hand struck a shot that was heading goal-bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
And his boots were all tarnished from his efforts to shoot.
His bundle of toys had been flung from his buggy,
When his shoulder was barged by Odemwingie.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His chance on the telly!
Awaiting in full kit, was his best mate John Terry!
His dry sealed mouth was drawn up like a bow,
His lungs full of fire, started to blow.
The thump of his heart, reverberated in his chest,
His chance to be remembered, like Pele, Zizou, Best.
He set the ball down, with a rumble in his belly,
His hands shook as he stepped up, like a bowlful of jelly!
He had decided the strike, had to be top shelf
But he changed his mind as he ran, in spite of himself!
A slip as he struck, filled him with dread,
As the ball flew true, straight over Neuer’s head.
He spoke not a word, but went straight back work,
And ran all the channels, then turned with a jerk.
He was pulling the strings, like a famous composer,
Until he met the sure foot of Miroslav Klose.
He sprang to his feet, to his team ref gave a whistle,
And up stepped the Tim Krul, from the wilds of Newcastle.
An unusual call, but the ball rose out of sight,
0-0 the game ended, what a load of ...