THE NIGHT BEFORE WORLD CUP®

By The Footie Professor
(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston)

'Twas the night before World Cup, and all round the land,
No supporter was stirring, save God's famous hand;
The goal posts were placed on the pitches with care,
In hopes special goals would pierce them with flair;

Supporters planned drinking all kinds of libations,
With match parties set to rock every nation;
All managers in blazers, and players in kits,
Had set on their tactics, and how they'd match wits;

When out on the field there arose such a whistle,
I thought from the stands there'd been thrown flaming missiles;
Away to the terrace I flew like a strike,
Grabbing my scarf, and straight on my bike;

The sprinklers were moistening the new-laden pitch,
To avoid any player, or referee glitch;
When, what foremost figure jumped out through the net,
But FIFA King Blatter, in a jewel-crusted jet;

Out from his chest pocket, his cash roll popped quick,
I knew for his bookie were coming cup picks;
But first his henchmen detached any blame,
They hurried out quickly from the sparkling plane;

"Now, Warner, Grondona, Hayatou, Platini!
On Tompson, Teixeira, Ogura, Makudi!
From touchline to touchline, and all through BetFair,
When profits roll in, all in them we share!"

They scurried past circle, and past corner flag,
Once inside the stadium, they smoked on their fags;
On dressing room benches, they gathered and met,
And then on their mobiles they made their last bets;

Then in walked King Blatter, though some call him Sepp,
Reminding his henchmen: "Preserve football's rep!"
Moved and inspired, they agreed to inject,
Special kits for the players, in which they'd be decked;

Adidas, and Puma, and Umbro, and Nike,
Were hung to inspire and boost player psyches;
The commercials were awesome, as all had expected,
Kit makers are crucial - the profits connected;

But players bemoaned about the new ball,
"It moves like a punter. This we say all."
King Blatter reminded: "The cup's for the fans!
It's all entertainment, so chill out my man."

He moved to the lift, to sit on his throne,
Keepers begged for technology. Sepp let out a groan;
Now snug in his box, King Blatter did sit,
And out loud he wondered: "Will Drogba be fit?"

The turnstiles did open, and in poured the fans,
With flags, vuvuzelas, and struck up the bands;
Out came the banners extorting fair play,
And players, officials, and mascots made way;

Then up from his seat, King Blatter extolled,
"Happy South African World Cup! Now let's have some goals!"