Warren Hill
New Member
Twas the night before Football, when all through the house
Not a creature was moaning, not even the spouse.
Lucky pants were hung on the radiator with care,
To ensure three points and that my bum wasn’t bare.
The eldest was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Hoolahan danced in his head.
With Mother retired, I search out a night cap
To just settle my nerves for that long, last nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see bloody Sepp Blatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw out some cash.
The moon lit up the grass like a floodlit pitch
As Sepp scuttled away, immeasurably rich
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Scotsman, all fight and no fear.
With a confidence that you could veritably feel,
I knew in a moment it must be Alex Neil.
So fast were the players that they looked to be blurred,
And he whistled, and shouted, and had a wee word!
"Now Redders!, Now Grabbs! Now, Cameron and Olsson!
On, Whitts! On Jacob!, Go on! Give it to Johnson!!!
From the top of the Champ, to the top of the tops!!
We’ll bash away, bash away, pull out all the stops!”"
Rested, recovered, ready for another thirty eight fights,
Set to overcome obstacles and to climb to new heights.
So up to the house-top the players clambered and leapt
As Alex negotiated the pond, without sinking he stepped
And then, with a dull thud, I heard on the roof
A player from Ipswich, I could tell by the HOOF!
I shook my head, drew the curtains (just like you would)
When to my surprise, behind me Alex Neil was stood
He was dressed in the third kit, from his head to his toe,
“When else will we wear it?” (We all want to know)
With antiquated tactics in a sack flung on his back
He said “These are McCarthy’s, no wonder they’re cack!”
His eyes – how they twinkled, belying that icy cold stare
Saved for stupid questions, or if a ref needs a glare
His droll little mouth was drawn up really tight,
No time for small-talk or any o’that auld shite
He looked like he could wrestle a croc with his teeth
But one look at our Alex and the croc would have no beef
He’d see he’s fierce but fair and would know not to cross
Norwich City’s latest young superstar boss
Neil’s not big in stature but his presence is massive
Alive to everything and in no way is he passive
With a wink of his eye and a word in my ear
It was quickly apparent that we’d nothing to fear
He spoke so well, was meticulous in his way
He filled me with confidence as we approached the day
When the training stopped and the real stuff began
Then with a nod and a wink, out of the house he ran
Sprang into action and gave the whole squad a whistle
They assembled quickly, a mass of skill, graft and gristle
Alex looked back as the players jogged off in a line
“Happy Football Day, Dunc, we’ll be just fine.”
Not a creature was moaning, not even the spouse.
Lucky pants were hung on the radiator with care,
To ensure three points and that my bum wasn’t bare.
The eldest was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Hoolahan danced in his head.
With Mother retired, I search out a night cap
To just settle my nerves for that long, last nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see bloody Sepp Blatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw out some cash.
The moon lit up the grass like a floodlit pitch
As Sepp scuttled away, immeasurably rich
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Scotsman, all fight and no fear.
With a confidence that you could veritably feel,
I knew in a moment it must be Alex Neil.
So fast were the players that they looked to be blurred,
And he whistled, and shouted, and had a wee word!
"Now Redders!, Now Grabbs! Now, Cameron and Olsson!
On, Whitts! On Jacob!, Go on! Give it to Johnson!!!
From the top of the Champ, to the top of the tops!!
We’ll bash away, bash away, pull out all the stops!”"
Rested, recovered, ready for another thirty eight fights,
Set to overcome obstacles and to climb to new heights.
So up to the house-top the players clambered and leapt
As Alex negotiated the pond, without sinking he stepped
And then, with a dull thud, I heard on the roof
A player from Ipswich, I could tell by the HOOF!
I shook my head, drew the curtains (just like you would)
When to my surprise, behind me Alex Neil was stood
He was dressed in the third kit, from his head to his toe,
“When else will we wear it?” (We all want to know)
With antiquated tactics in a sack flung on his back
He said “These are McCarthy’s, no wonder they’re cack!”
His eyes – how they twinkled, belying that icy cold stare
Saved for stupid questions, or if a ref needs a glare
His droll little mouth was drawn up really tight,
No time for small-talk or any o’that auld shite
He looked like he could wrestle a croc with his teeth
But one look at our Alex and the croc would have no beef
He’d see he’s fierce but fair and would know not to cross
Norwich City’s latest young superstar boss
Neil’s not big in stature but his presence is massive
Alive to everything and in no way is he passive
With a wink of his eye and a word in my ear
It was quickly apparent that we’d nothing to fear
He spoke so well, was meticulous in his way
He filled me with confidence as we approached the day
When the training stopped and the real stuff began
Then with a nod and a wink, out of the house he ran
Sprang into action and gave the whole squad a whistle
They assembled quickly, a mass of skill, graft and gristle
Alex looked back as the players jogged off in a line
“Happy Football Day, Dunc, we’ll be just fine.”
