BringBack_leGin
Well-Known Member
- Jul 28, 2004
- 27,719
- 54,929
In the middle of August on a hot summers day,
We visited Boro and they made us pay,
We were defeated and that was day one,
But a season of trauma had barely begun,
Next we were home entertaining those Cats,
But the stripey Wear beasts stomped on us just like rats,
At this point in time our high hopes had but cleared,
Replaced with a feeling or nausea and fear,
Who would have thought at the end of this month,
We'd leave Stamford Bridge with a point in triumph,
But by the next night the man who was our core,
Revealed to us all that he was just a whore,
So out with the old and in with the new,
A Russian, two Croats and Mexican too,
At least now the football would take all our time,
An untoward start, but we would be fine,
September brought only one more point from nine,
In contrast to what we hoped would be sublime,
The Spaniard who 8 months ago had been king,
Began to look like he belonged in a bin,
The tenth month brought yet more heartache and gloom,
We smelt a foreboding aroma of doom,
But after a slaying in fair Italy,
The Spaniard departed, as did Commolli,
In came the Cockney from way deep down south,
Driving a forklift to carry his mouth,
And who'd have foreseen our next few events,
I doubt any gambler made any such bets,
We entertained Bolton and finally won,
Some confidence before we took on the Scum,
And with just two minutes to go before tears,
We ended crying, not sad, but with cheers,
We'd taken a lead with a goal from a mile,
But pegged back we were and no reason to smile,
Then little blonde Luke thought he would try his luck,
As the ball fell to Lennon my heart ran amock,
The back of the net bulged a beautiful bulge,
A moment in which sometimes I still indulge,
We all went ballistic, the Scum were in fits,
But we were enthralled, so who gives a shit,
Now came November, five league games would come,
We finally played, and three games we won,
But then came December and our progress slowed,
Back down the table, we no longer glowed
In the New year we had 8 scheduled games,
Inluding a semi which filled us with shame,
We had made a final but not with much class,
And back in the league we were sinking quite fast,
We'd brought in some players to help us improve,
Three from the past and two with new groove,
And as the new month began taking it's shape,
We seemed to fill holes that had formerly gaped,
The Scum came back hoping to exact respite,
But new Sergreant Wilson put up a good fight,
Foundations were laid for our home to hold out,
A fortress again we'd been too long without,
League games in March brought three wins out of four,
Even the final was not lost, a draw!
We ended forever our fear of those Blues,
Conceding so few now, we just did not lose,
In came an April of showers and cold,
But even that could not make Spurs much less bold,
We won both our home ties still without goals against,
But out on the road the refs weren't on the fence,
First up was Blackburn when Wilson saw red,
Quite why I don't know, the ref just lost his head,
And then came Utd, a day to despise,
Another ref who had a wierd set of eyes,
Cruising we were, two nil, great, home and dry,
The events that followed made hardened men cry,
For up stepped a ref, nay, an inhumane bitch,
And gave them a penalty for barely an itch,
While it is fool to forgive our collapse,
It may not have happened but for that ref of an ass,
Our impetus gone now, one last month remained,
No longer in danger but still four more games,
With little to playe for, perhaps pride and place,
We made sure we ended without a disgrace,
We did what we needed and left satisfied,
With final position of eighth justified,
Now summer approaches and what have we learned?
Do not change too much, Spurs, or you will get burned,
Got lucky this time but please do not tempt fate,
Next time we might not recover, not from two points from eight
We visited Boro and they made us pay,
We were defeated and that was day one,
But a season of trauma had barely begun,
Next we were home entertaining those Cats,
But the stripey Wear beasts stomped on us just like rats,
At this point in time our high hopes had but cleared,
Replaced with a feeling or nausea and fear,
Who would have thought at the end of this month,
We'd leave Stamford Bridge with a point in triumph,
But by the next night the man who was our core,
Revealed to us all that he was just a whore,
So out with the old and in with the new,
A Russian, two Croats and Mexican too,
At least now the football would take all our time,
An untoward start, but we would be fine,
September brought only one more point from nine,
In contrast to what we hoped would be sublime,
The Spaniard who 8 months ago had been king,
Began to look like he belonged in a bin,
The tenth month brought yet more heartache and gloom,
We smelt a foreboding aroma of doom,
But after a slaying in fair Italy,
The Spaniard departed, as did Commolli,
In came the Cockney from way deep down south,
Driving a forklift to carry his mouth,
And who'd have foreseen our next few events,
I doubt any gambler made any such bets,
We entertained Bolton and finally won,
Some confidence before we took on the Scum,
And with just two minutes to go before tears,
We ended crying, not sad, but with cheers,
We'd taken a lead with a goal from a mile,
But pegged back we were and no reason to smile,
Then little blonde Luke thought he would try his luck,
As the ball fell to Lennon my heart ran amock,
The back of the net bulged a beautiful bulge,
A moment in which sometimes I still indulge,
We all went ballistic, the Scum were in fits,
But we were enthralled, so who gives a shit,
Now came November, five league games would come,
We finally played, and three games we won,
But then came December and our progress slowed,
Back down the table, we no longer glowed
In the New year we had 8 scheduled games,
Inluding a semi which filled us with shame,
We had made a final but not with much class,
And back in the league we were sinking quite fast,
We'd brought in some players to help us improve,
Three from the past and two with new groove,
And as the new month began taking it's shape,
We seemed to fill holes that had formerly gaped,
The Scum came back hoping to exact respite,
But new Sergreant Wilson put up a good fight,
Foundations were laid for our home to hold out,
A fortress again we'd been too long without,
League games in March brought three wins out of four,
Even the final was not lost, a draw!
We ended forever our fear of those Blues,
Conceding so few now, we just did not lose,
In came an April of showers and cold,
But even that could not make Spurs much less bold,
We won both our home ties still without goals against,
But out on the road the refs weren't on the fence,
First up was Blackburn when Wilson saw red,
Quite why I don't know, the ref just lost his head,
And then came Utd, a day to despise,
Another ref who had a wierd set of eyes,
Cruising we were, two nil, great, home and dry,
The events that followed made hardened men cry,
For up stepped a ref, nay, an inhumane bitch,
And gave them a penalty for barely an itch,
While it is fool to forgive our collapse,
It may not have happened but for that ref of an ass,
Our impetus gone now, one last month remained,
No longer in danger but still four more games,
With little to playe for, perhaps pride and place,
We made sure we ended without a disgrace,
We did what we needed and left satisfied,
With final position of eighth justified,
Now summer approaches and what have we learned?
Do not change too much, Spurs, or you will get burned,
Got lucky this time but please do not tempt fate,
Next time we might not recover, not from two points from eight
