04/09/2026
'Twas the night before kickoff, and all through the house,
The coach was awake, trying to be quiet as a mouse.
The kit bags were packed by the front door with care,
In hopes that the squad would actually be there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of clean sheets danced in their heads.
And Coaches in their tracksuits, with tactics in mind,
Are praying the rain wouldn't leave them behind.
When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter,
The council had mowed it! (Though the mud didn't matter).
Away to the boot of the car Coach did fly,
To check on the balls as the midnight went by.
The moon on the breast of the fresh-cut grass,
Brought hope for a goal and a beautiful pass.
When what to Coach's wondering eyes should appear,
But a bag full of footballs, cones, and wet-weather gear.
With a whistle so loud, and a clipboard so neat,
Coach knew in a moment this team can't be beat.
More rapid than wingers the orders they came,
And Coach whistled and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Striker! Now, Keeper! Now, Midfield and Back!
On, Winger! On, Sub! Prepare to attack!
To the edge of the box! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
They'll slide in the mud and they'll chase every ball,
For the love of the game is the greatest of all.
And Coach gave a cheer as they called it a night,,
"Happy kickoff to all, and to all a good fight!"
