The Night After Transfers

'Twas the night after transfers, when all through the lands

Not a contract was stirring, not even pay bands;

The Cottagers were hung by their ankles with woe,

In hopes to the Championship soon they would go;

The players were nestled all snug in their ways,

While visions of grandeur showed in their play;

And Coleman in his Job Centre, and I running my gob,

Had just settled down for my brand new job,

When out on the pitch there arose such a mess,

I sprang from the bench to see what was best.

Away to the chairman I flew like a flash,

Tore open the chequebook and splashed out the cash.

The moon on the face of the new-signing guys

Gave the lustre of mid-day to wrinkly eyes,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature pastry, and plenty of beer,

With a six point gap to safety, hope seemed forlorn,

I knew in a moment this team won't be gone.

More rapid than eagles decisions they came,

And he whistled, and pointed, and called them by name;

"Now, Jimmy! now, Luis! now, Collins and Brian!

On, Papa! on Claus! on, Carlos and Moritz!

To the top of the league! or out the drop zone!

Now win some games! win some games! or I'll transfer you all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to seventeenth the players they flew,

With the team full of boys, and some older guys too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the telly

That Annti Niemi had developed a belly.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the table poor Villa came with a bound.

Their form had collapsed, from the front to the back,

And a striker with talent they now seemed to lack;

A bundle of has-beens had rescued the day,

But outside of Fulham a feeling that they,

Had eyes -- how they wrinkled! and knees that were shot!

This one was past it, thought that one was not!

My droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of my chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe I held tight in my teeth,

And the smoke it encircled my head like a wreath;

I have a broad face and a little round belly,

That shakes, when I laugh like a bowlful of jelly.

I am chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And they laughed when they saw me, in spite of themselves;

A wink of their eye and a twist of their head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

Talk of the drop had now ended at last,

And all of the drama had happened so fast,

And looking back now at the point we have reached,

It's clear that team spirit is something you need;

The ref raised his arms, to the teams gave a whistle,

And away they all ran to crowd and it's bustle.

I heard them exclaim, ere they went to the door,

"What a job you have done, but next year we want more."

'Twas the night after transfers, when all through the lands

Not a contract was stirring, not even pay bands;

The Cottagers were hung by their ankles with woe,

In hopes to the Championship soon they would go;

The players were nestled all snug in their ways,

While visions of grandeur showed in their play;

And Coleman in his Job Centre, and I running my gob,

Had just settled down for my brand new job,

When out on the pitch there arose such a mess,

I sprang from the bench to see what was best.

Away to the chairman I flew like a flash,

Tore open the chequebook and splashed out the cash.

The moon on the face of the new-signing guys

Gave the lustre of mid-day to wrinkly eyes,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature pastry, and plenty of beer,

With a six point gap to safety, hope seemed forlorn,

I knew in a moment this team won't be gone.

More rapid than eagles decisions they came,

And he whistled, and pointed, and called them by name;

"Now, Jimmy! now, Luis! now, Collins and Brian!

On, Papa! on Claus! on, Carlos and Moritz!

To the top of the league! or out the drop zone!

Now win some games! win some games! or I'll transfer you all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to seventeenth the players they flew,

With the team full of boys, and some older guys too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the telly

That Annti Niemi had developed a belly.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the table poor Villa came with a bound.

Their form had collapsed, from the front to the back,

And a striker with talent they now seemed to lack;

A bundle of has-beens had rescued the day,

But outside of Fulham a feeling that they,

Had eyes -- how they wrinkled! and knees that were shot!

This one was past it, thought that one was not!

My droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of my chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe I held tight in my teeth,

And the smoke it encircled my head like a wreath;

I have a broad face and a little round belly,

That shakes, when I laugh like a bowlful of jelly.

I am chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And they laughed when they saw me, in spite of themselves;

A wink of their eye and a twist of their head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

Talk of the drop had now ended at last,

And all of the drama had happened so fast,

And looking back now at the point we have reached,

It's clear that team spirit is something you need;

The ref raised his arms, to the teams gave a whistle,

And away they all ran to crowd and it's bustle.

I heard them exclaim, ere they went to the door,

"What a job you have done, but next year we want more."

Utterly, utterly, utterly, utterly, brilliant.

Think thats too many utterlys, but you get the point

Too early, come back in a month

To be fair, it's set in Feb-May, so earlier yet

Merry Christmas, one and all.

I'd add about three more utterlys, but basically what PM7 said. Quite fantastic

Blatant upping of a dead story

Simply following flipsix3's instructions!

Ah.

Carry on.

I think that was the battle-cry for the invention of the all new:

FMS Poem of the Year Award

Heh. I think it probably would be classified as a short story, but it doesn't matter much if/until it's time to vote on these things, and people will have forgotten it by then.

Regular bumping will ensure it isn't forgotten, but you didn't hear it from me, right.

I give thanks for the blatant upping, as otherwise I would have missed this! Well done, good idea!

very good poem/short story. I cant imagine Gennaro doing anything like bumping up a story lol.... btw when is the voting for the best story etc

ps my story could do with bumping up, on the quiet of course Gennaro nudge nudge wink wink

In one word: genius

Thanks.

great