A poem to rally the troops (4 replies)
If you can keep your head when all about you;
Are losing theirs and blaming it on the Chinese Board,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt Karanka;
But make allowance for their doubting too as he is indeed a truly shit Manager,
If you can wait for a win of any sorts and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about by sneering rival fans don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated by the Villa don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream of Promotion and not make Premiership dreams your master;
If you can Drink 10 pints before a game - and not make drinking thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with footballing triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the home truths you’ve spoken,
Twisted by Aston knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the great Team you have given your life to supporting playing like sad losers,
And still try and build ’em up with chants of “Shit on the Villa”,
If you can make one heap of all your gambling winnings,
And risk it on one Blues game
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and soul,
To still support Birmingham City long after all the old legends are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them - Keep Right On,
If you can talk with mocking crowds and still keep your Blues belief,
Or walk with footballing kings—nor lose the common Small Heath touch;
If neither Vile foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all rival fans count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving 90 minutes,
With sixty seconds’ worth of wild goal celebration,
Yours is the crazy Passion known to this world as football and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a BLUE NOSE my son!
KRO