Twas the day after Christmas, when all throughout the town
Not a soul was stirring, not even in dressing gown.
Roads covered in ice, sub-zero temperature
Middlesbrough an ice-age endure.
The hearts of even ardent Boro fans, were cold,
Since October 20th they had not won at home, were unlikely to break the mould.
Under new Gaffer, had scored only one goal,
Never won at home, did little to console.
The team’s tradition of giving points away, during the festival season,
Fans can not reason and most see it as treason.
Boro fans for life, through thick and thin,
On match day, in club shirt, I’m always there to take it on the chin.
Sizzling Boro, set the Riverside Stadium alight
It heated up, as if the place was hit a meteorite.
Goalfest and first-half’s devastating display,
Scunthorpe, without iron in their bones men simply folded away.
First victory at home for our team, and in this festive season
I hope first of the many, whether it lead to survival or crowning let that Be the reason!
Happy New Year.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem