Gather 'round childrens... lemme tell you a story...'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the ground,
No supporter was stirring, nor making a sound;
The boot bags were hung by the lockers with care,
With hopes that Nick Garcia’s would soon be bare;
The players were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of coherent passing danc'd in their heads,
And Tommy in his panda-fur pajamas, with supporters abused,
He’d settled his brains after leaving his customers confused.
When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter,
DeRo made a motion to make his wallet look fatter.
Away to the physio I flew like a flash
Chad was cramping up, Cann survived a mid-air crash.
O’Brien White, with his moves so slow,
Was traded to Seattle, currently part way through Ohio
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a rented Mercedes, and a two steins full of beer,
He was a little old diver, so cunning and German,
Tommy knew in a moment it must be Herr Klinsmann.
Tom was sure his club wouldn’t be lame.
Jurgen presented his managers and listed them by name:
“How bout Avram, or McLaren, or Nicol or Voller,
"Or how about Der Kaiser, I can give him a holler!”
“I got Allardyce on the phone, he’s my drinking pal”
“And Rafa just got canned from Internazionale”
As dry heaves of stress and a tear forms in his eye,
Tommy panics at the money he’ll pay and asks “Why!?”;
An overpriced manager the teachers won’t allow;
Jurgen unimpressed sighs aloud “so what now?”;
And then down the hall, some beeping and a ring;
A message transmitting on the fax machine;
It’s all in Spanish, but it’s something no one would wanna;
A resume in crayon from Diego Maradona;
Patience running thin and time running out;
And a half full roster leaving supporters with doubt;
Dreaming of more spin for the customers to be fed;
While another disastrous season is lying just ahead;
Jurgen warns Tommy “You must make a choice quick,”
“The season is in three months, you shortsighted prick!”
Tommy screams, “You can’t talk to me like that! I’ll give you a pink slip!”
Jurgen responds “That’s fine if you want, I’ve actually won a championship.”
With the truth of the failures all throughout MLSE
Tommy begs with forgiveness “I’m so sorry...”;
Rushing through the various Curriculum Vitae;
Tommy’s deeply frustrated as he only knows hockey;
Doesn’t know the difference between League and FA Cup;
Understanding offside makes him dizzy and throw up;
His lack of comprehension is starting to show;
He relies on his instincts to ‘go with what you know.”;
With only one option that could seemingly do the trick;
“On Wednesday we’ll announce Cochrane and Dasovic!”’
Remove the “interim” from their titles and some media spin;
Minimal expectations for the pair of them to win;
“we trust them, they’re Canadian, they know the game...”;
“and most of the supporters won’t think the move is lame!”;
“That’ll give us a year and some change, perhaps”;
“Until we have to explain finishing well behind the Whitecaps”;
Jurgen facepalms himself as he believes there’s no hope;
And wonders if Tommy will hang himself if he gives him enough rope;
He shakes his head but still knows he is blessed;
His failings won’t be reported because no one follows MLS;
Jurgen sprung into his Mercedes as the door closes with a slam;
He moves to his new crisis club, Feyenoord Rotterdam;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
“Be thankful that there is no relegation fight!”
MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE YORKIES
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