MERRY DICKMAS FATHER CREASEYMAS

Wisbech Town,my football team.Are a team playing in the lowly divisions of football(soccer to the ignorant)in England.We've in the past had times of glory--with big crowds,and on occasions getting to 1st and 2nd rounds proper of the F A Cup.Town are having a pretty good year this year,we're well placed in the Ridgeons League-and at the time of writing still in the F A Vase--that's a trophy that the minnows of English Football fight for.The next round is due to be played the next Saturday to this date of writing-so I hope I don't jinx them.We also play in a high enough level of football,that calls for our boys to troop out on Boxing day each year,blow the cob webs ,turkey and brown ale from their systems--and go play football.For the purpose of this poem-you do need to know that the Manager/Coach of Wisbech Town Football Club aka "The Mighty Fenmen" is one Mr Dick Creasey,and we play at Fenland Park.

IT WAS THE DAY AFTER CHRISMAS,
WHEN DOWN FENLAND PARK
CAME SOHAM TOWN RANGERS
FOR THEIR BOXING DAY LARK.
THE FENMEN WERE HUNGRY
FOR THEIR DINNER THEY'D MISSED
THOUGH BLOATED WITH TURKEY
AND STILL THREE PARTS PISSED

"WHICH BALL SHALL I GO FOR?"
SAID OUR KEEPER TO DICK,
SEEING THREE HEAD TOWARD HIM
AND FEELING QUITE SICK.
"GO THE MIDDLE" HE REPLIED
"AND HOPE FOR GOOD LUCK"
THEN WE ALL HEARD A SCREAM
AND A LOUD "WHAT THE F*CK!"

"OOOPS" SAID THE KEEPER,
(THATS NOT QUITE WHAT HE SAID)
HE'D KICKED SOHAM TOWN STRIKER
FAIR IN THE HEAD.
WELL,A PUNCH UP ERUPTED,
A FULL ALL IN BRAWL,
"I COULDN'T HELP IT" SAID KEEPER
"I WENT FOR THE BALL."

"YOU'RE OFF," SAID THE REF,
AS HE PULLED OUT THE CARD,
"YOU MISSED OUT ON THE BALL
BY A GOOD HALF A YARD."
"BUT I DID WHAT HE TOLD ME,
AND IT WASN'T THAT EASY"
HE SAID,POINTING FINGER
AT MANAGER CREASEY.

OH!THE BOXING DAY FOOTY,
I WOULDN'T MISS IT FOR QUIDS,
ALL PEACE AND QUIET
FROM THE MISSUS AND KIDS.
AWAY FROM THE SQUABBLE
NOISE,NAGGING AND ALL.
TO WATCH GROWN UP MEN,
FIGHT OVER A BALL. "GO YOU MIGHTY FENMEN"