[unitegallery turkey_tour]
It was thirty-two degrees centigrade. Our opponents were twenty-odd years younger. A gutful of beer was consumed the night before. The scene was set for a crushing defeat. And yet… oh, that’s exactly what happened. A shocking performance, which showed up Wor Lad in front of his Turkish mates.
No wonder he sold his place there shortly afterwards…
TFC v ? 1-11 L
Sluggie’s belly dance
The Ballad of Dalyan
From every part of England’s sward they came
Converging on a foreign corner’s field
Intent on doing honour to their name
Tornados to the Turk would never yield
The introductions made, the beds assigned
The tour began in earnest round the pool
On carbohydrates massively we dined
Who could oppose us? No-one but a fool!
Next day dawned bright and with the game postponed
We saw unclouded what wor Lad had planned
And to a man our happy pilgrims owned
The beauty of this proud and ancient land
A warm up game was mooted on the beach
Red-faced retirement led to five v four
Appeals for long-ball over-use we screech
The prostrate Plod lets out a gentle snore
With Snailish panic growing o’er the whip
The Slug stepped in with usual healing balm
Adroitly covered him with towel and – Zip!
The budgies squawks subsided, all was calm
A naval foray passed the eventide
Which brought a smile to Tagamishi’s face
Utter content was felt on every side
With Wormer’s joy e’en visible from space
The rolling hills ineffably serene
Tranquility and beauty all astounded
The guzzling Cod up-ended a tureen
Across the mirrored lake the belch resounded
And so to business – hold your breath oh world!
A warm-up done in thirty two degrees
At last the Mufti’s masterplan unfurled
A diamond! Surely this will be a breeze!
I do not quite recall what happened next
I’m sure my fellow players did me proud
And as this is the sole recorded text
I can confirm we left with heads unbowed!
One memory is etched upon my mind
A ball, trapped dead with first touch, and with second –
Surely the onion bag this one would find!
Our striker steadied, knowing glory beckoned
The terror’ed goalie rooted to the spot
The Wormer swung his left leg with a grunt
Swift and true and accurate the shot
But – agony! Straight at the keeper! C**t!
A shower, a swim, and cushions by the lake
Sea-bass and wine, (for whom you may have guessed!)
Steptoe, Ben Dover, Hittites mesh to make
Grey matter pressed at Bubblehead’s behest
Parting’s sweet sorrow finally we espouse
The honours to wor Lad and BGP
From Catholic dwarves to Father of the house
All have played a winning part for me!
But as with all great tours the best was last
The finest honour saved til very end
His wit and wisdom echo from the past
Our ever-present heartbeat, and our friend
When on our death-beds one and all we lie
With life’s guffaws recalled to ease the sweat
The dwarfish architect of mirth we’ll spy
And wonder if Dubrovnik’s ready yet!
I must thank Sion – my nearly lifelong chum
From golden curls to smattering of grey
Who’s introductions smoothed my path to come
And join this noble band of brothers gay
And to you all I raise this heartfelt toast
As on a tour yet stronger friendships forge
To know you all has been my happy boast
To Mufti, the Tornados and Saint George!
With thanks to Aidan for an utterly magical tour.
Blofeld Laureate