Twas The Night Before a T100 Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through T100

Not a creature was stirring, not even Rahul;

Football socks were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that 3 points soon would be there;

The managers were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of league titles danced in their heads;

And Frank in his Pool scarf, and DP in his Spurs cap,

Had just settled down after their Xmas Eve crap,

When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter,

Beddows sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window he flew like a flash,

Wearing only a nightie and a handlebar moustache,

The moon on the breast of his poster of J Lo


Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and lean,

He knew in a moment it must be Roy Keane.

More rapid than Ruts his coursers they came,

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

"Now, HARMER! now, MARSDEN! now, PARFITT and FOSTER!


On, NOISY! on CRISP! on, GINO and DOCTOR!


To the top of the terrace! to the top of the wall!


Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"


As dry leaves that before the wild Gurismiran fly,

When they see a Mckenzie has got a Cup bye,

So to the top of the stand the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Strongbow, and Roy Keano too.

And then, in a twinkling, Beddows heard on the roof


The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As he hitched up his nightie, and was turning around,

Down the chimney Keano came with a bound.

He was dressed all in claret, from his head to his shoes,

And his clothes were all tarnished and stunk high with booze;

A 4 pack of Stella he had flung on his back,

And his pocket it bulged with a bottle of Jack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, Beddows feared for his cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like Mike Bowes,

And the beard of his chin dripped with snot from his nose;

The butt of a reefer he held tight in his teeth,


And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

A stream of piss ran down his leg and half filled his welly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

But Beddows was scared and half shat himself;

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

Soon gave him know Milan had plenty to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And took 6 points from Beddows; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And flashing a rod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, AC Milan truly are shite,

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!