And for Accounting Purposes, My Name Is Ronaldo “Ronaldinho Gaucho” de Assís Moreira
Ronaldinho, now Barça’s a fetter,
Has been told that Man City is better,
And would happily go
For the same rate as Jo,
Meaning roughly ten million per letter.
No One Is Being Called a Queen in This Argument
Now, whomever one happens to play for,
One can hardly expect that one’s payor
Will concede that Milan,
Having taken his pawn,
Can proceed to take his Adebayor.
Frank Lampard, Contemplative, Dines on the Deck of His Yacht
When he breathes in the steam from his pasta
In the cool Amalfitana Costa
Does he think, “To live here
I can’t wait one more year”?
Or, “Mourinho! Piantala! Basta!”
Cristiano Among the Philosophers
In the clear light of reason, to weigh all,
And conclusively—brilliantly—say all,
Is a goal he can’t shake;
No one knows what’s not fake,
But he senses, he thinks, what’s not Real.
Read More: Transfer Gossip Poetry Grenade
by Brian Phillips · July 3, 2008
[contact-form 5 'Email form']
We are not worthy.
Ursus, if I had any courage, I would have taken on West Brom signing Zuiverloon.
You have to pace yourself. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.
The hook for Zuiverloon is clearly a Dada-influenced play on Tristan Tzara, with a subtext on either Dutch geography or the Canadian dollar coin.
“We are not worthy”
I second that emotion.
Bravo, Brian. I only hope we don’t have to wait as long for the next installment as for Volume II of The Randy Newman Songbook. (Why hast thou forsaken us, Rand?)