Setting sprigged foot upon the gloried turf, hark thee Socceroos, heart be fullish and unfeared. Menfolk in white ventured from the land of Deutch, and expertly sprigged moreso. Sadness well be but be will be.
But wherefore the King of K, of groined ground to grief. Closethed sight of paining, teethed gritted he will go on and on. But gasp, a kin of the Dutch proclamates nay, ye shall place thyself uponeth the slats in the dugoutethness of nothingness and set mind and life upon more winworthy chances. Little jots are cared for of the tears from greengold disciples. A ruse perhaps? Pain now pleasure thereafter?
A quad! Oh, a quad of quandary hitteth our net, and feel stabbingly surreal. The sauerkraut never tasted sweeter for them, but bittersour uponeth our palates. Miserygrief, as our TeeCee is displayed the bloodcard, an invitation to sit alongside the King of K and weep the weep of weepishness.
A glimmer? Have we faith for a glimmer?
We certainly don't get this quality of commentary on SBS. As for the mighty K, I too would probably not get up from the bench if my groin was 'ground to grief'. Weepishness indeed, and hopefully no red cards on the cards this weekend.
ReplyDelete'Twasn't to be dear Mitzi. The scarlet card was unleashed again, and this time it was the King of K in receipt. The weepy woes thus continue.
ReplyDeleteA splendid piece - would have commented when I read it a few days earlier but can't do it on work computers.
ReplyDeleteTa very much Tim. Those work computers don't let you have any fun.
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