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Array
(
[sid] => 6171
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Balding Ron
[time] => 2002-11-04 05:30:00
[hometext] => Apologies to all readers called Ron
[bodytext] => Shy and retiring bald headed Ron from Croydon,
Made the numbers up for the local pub side, More than slightly past it, age, fourty one, But when Willie got injured Ron played out wide. It was chilled that Sunday morn and rain began, And as the damp set in a day for men not boys, Up against top team Town, no need to have a plan, Kick it hard and give chase was the subtle ploy. Not long gone and down two nil to Town so slick, They played it round, so clever with the ball, Our Ron had not had a sniff let alone a big kick, And bald and soaked on the wing he felt such a fool. The first touch that Ron got came with an hour gone, Big mistake that Town made was to give him space, And with ball, beat one then two others, really shone, Leathered it into net from forty yards with amazing grace. Troubled Town then lost their cool, no touch only clog, But Ron, bones aching, used class to see him through, Tricked and teased across a pitch shrouded in fog, Passed the ball then smacked home return to make it two. The crowd, five men and a whippet, roared the team on, Two each and hardly any seconds left, getting very late, When through a melee of sweaty players up popped Ron, And nodded home a glorious winner with his balding pate. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 156 [topic] => 7 [informant] => jonteD [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry )
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