From World-Beating to Scraping the Play-Offs

Last night’s TV: Coach JVT
Discussing the psychology
Of match-deciding penalties

Score your first, said Coach Van Tam
And know that you can beat your man
The match ain’t won but you know you can

Last night’s TV: JVT brings news to cheer you up
Avoiding carefully the thing that’s never added up:
Why play-off final winners get to lift a cup

This Ship is Lost at Sea

This ship is lost at sea
And Spaffer’s wearing the captain’s hat
He needed help with the charts
But he was never interested in all of that

He simply expected to point
And somehow the ship would just go that way
He always figured the details
Could wait for another day

Now this ship is lost at sea
And the crew are hungry and tired
Because it turned out to be the hat, not the ship
That Spaffer truly desired

The Children of the First XV

A teenage state school rugby player
Could marvel at the examples
Among the fee-paying opposition
Bigger and better in every position
And every respect
From wrist to thigh and arm to head
Glossier, brighter, whiter
Quite obviously better bred
Better fed, on better bread

These giants who roamed the land
From families who owned the land
(And freely used the word ‘alas’
When deigning to see their lads
At half term)
Were clearly of a better stock
From full back to loosehead prop and back
Chock full of born-to-lead-ness
That our team somehow lacked

As we left the playing fields of England behind
To turn our noses to the daily grind
They rose to take their rightful place
In the grand offices of state
To bray, debate, deliberate
And make the regulations and the laws
That daily will affect us all

Marcus plays a very different game
Co-opted early to the Order of the British Empire
An uncomfortable title
But recognition all the same
He seeks to shame
Those with the power to make a change
In this time of national crisis
To extend a free school meal a day
Into the Christmas holiday
Though tempered is the hope that he’ll succeed
For the children of the first fifteen
It’s a meal they’ll never need

Hands, Face, Pasty

Six tier one folks can still meet inside
It’s the tier where the science and the politics collide
Where the rule of six guide stands ready for the slide
Over to the hundred in one hundred thousand side

So, we’re standing on the precipice of tier two
Sadiq says that it’s coming very soon
But I’ve got people to see and things to do
While COVID’s turning the screw

Meanwhile there’s a new slogan in tier three
Where you can’t have a pint except with your tea
It’s like Tim Wetherspoon’s writing policy:
Hands. Face. Pasty (and chips).

Leyton Orient 0-19 COVID

One of the players has got a cough, Boss
One of the players has got a cough
One of the players, should we take him off Boss?
One of the players has got a cough

One of the players is feeling hot, Boss
One of the players is feeling hot
One of the players, he’s the best we’ve got Boss
One of the players is feeling hot
Should we take him off?

One of the players lost his sense of smell, Boss
One of the players lost his sense of smell
One of the players, who should we tell Boss?
Whatever you do, don’t tell the EFL, Boss
One of the players lost his sense of smell

One of the players is feeling unwell, Boss
One of the players is feeling unwell
He’s lost his sense of smell, don’t tell the EFL, Boss
One of the players is feeling unwell

One of the players is off the pace, Boss
One of the players is off the pace
Shouldn’t we we do the test and trace, Boss?
If one of the players is off the pace

One of the players is burning up, Boss
One of the players is burning up
There’s a televised fixture coming up, Boss
I’m not sure that we’re up for the cup, Boss
‘Cos one of the players is burning up

The fans will have to watch on their screens, Boss
The fans will have to watch on their screens
If we can’t even keep our hands clean, Boss
The fans will have to watch on their screens

The Rule of Six

Your mum, your dad, your aunt, your nan,
The man who drives the Yodel van,
Your uncle Bob and his mate, Stan
And Hassan who’s from Pakistan
Are banned
You understand?
That gatherings of your loved ones
Are limited to six persons
The seventh and eighth don’t get to come
Unless they’re carrying a gun
So, Hassan who’s from Pakistan
Your uncle Bob and his mate, Stan
The man who drives the Yodel van
Your mum, your dad, your aunt and your nan
Are all off to a grouse shoot, man.

Tofu Bats and Tofu Pangolins

No, I don’t believe in god she says
But I do believe in pestilence and plague
You’ve just got to look around these days
To see this shit’s man-made
There ain’t much left round here that Jesus could save
Not while the boom bust cycle of suffer and recover
Is long on the suffer and short on recover
And the government is just a machine
To turn public money into private greed
Disaster capital’s here to stay, it seems
And I don’t bang on about the furry little fuckers
But here’s where I get my angle in
‘Cos no one ever made themselves sick
Eating tofu bats
And tofu pangolins

No, I don’t believe in god she says
‘Cos I don’t understand a Tory who prays
Then goes to work to be the best he can
At the very expense of his fellow man
Clapping for the NHS on his Facebook page
While the boom bust cycle of suffer and recover
Is strong on the suffer and weak on the recover
And the government is just a means
Of giving the public purse a squeeze
Into offshore tax-free banking schemes
And I don’t bang on about the furry little fuckers
But here’s where I get my angle in
‘Cos no one ever made themselves ill
Eating tofu bats
And tofu pangolins

Ferrari’s Furlough Fraudsters

He’s dog-whistling up the news
The favourite sport of the populist columnist
From The Currant Bun to The News of the Screws
The chance to scapegoat’s rarely missed
So, ring the show, grass up your neighbours
Hold fast the fruits of your own labours
Pull up the ladder, lock up your daughters
Here come Ferrari’s Furlough Fraudsters

Untitled (7th September 2020)

If you want one of our world-beating tests
Then mate, you’d better have access to a car
While Hancock’s still spouting they’re the best
I’ll tell ya, you’re gonna have to travel far

My mate in north London got Leicester
A fella in Manchester got Dundee
At least my mate went to his (200-mile round trip)
Manchester’s waiting for a better slot to be released

You could, of course, go postal
Wait for the swab kit to hit your mat
There’s limited numbers of those, mind you
So, y’know, good luck with that

The expert said that he’s alarmed
3000 cases and the graph’s contour
The health secretary remained calm
Says work and school is COVID secure (yeah, right)

A busy pub with a Perspex screen
The floor stickers wearing thin (and pretty much ignored)
You can’t mask up when you eat and drink
What’s gonna happen d’you think?