The Best Booking Ever Poem by THE HOLY POET

A screamer had silenced the whole of the pub
And the faces just dropped in our wee London club
It was the third time this season the old firm had met
And our goalie’s first job? Pick the ball out the net!

Some say his bite his bite is worse than his bark
Some say it’s time he stepped up to the mark
He may not be Cesar, Maley or Stein
But his performance that day was a sight to be seen.

Down to ten men and down by a goal
The football we played was taking its toll
On the team with eleven whilst we were supreme
They were one more but we played as a team.

Broonie that day was captain fantastic
The pub was euphoric, the football emphatic.
He cut inside a defence so bereft
Then switching the ball from his right to his left

The sweetest of strikes, he curled it wide
His rejoicing so simple, he just strode to one side
And stood there defiant, his arms outstretched
Pride and the passion on his face deeply etched,

His whole body rigid with steel in his eyes
And the look that he gave was not one of disguise
No blink of an eye, no movement, his actions so profound,
He noised them up to breaking point, yet never made a sound.