Summer football at the RSC

The fans gazed around
The rain-spattered ground,
Unable to fathom the mystery.
In their years watching ball,
None could ever recall
Quite anything like it in history.

The God of the Wind
Blew his cheeks out and grinned,
As the ball swirled about with great revelry.
And the God of the Rain
Sang a lusty refrain,
Which many ascribed to sheer devilry.

“So what?” you might say,
“Just an ordin’ry day.
Our summer’s are often quite scuttery.
Full of rain, wind and sleet
And to make it complete,
The surface turns greasy and buttery.”

But this was not why
Faces turned to the sky,
Amazed at the unforeseen frippery,
For great numbered balls
Bounced down ‘mongst the squalls
As conditions got even more slippery.

Bright coloured and gay,
They broke up the play,
Like a bull in a shop full of pottery.
No it doesn’t make sense
But these lurid events
Had turned the match into a lottery.