Sunday, 14 May 2017

The spurious sham summation of a stitched-up snooker showdown

After the break of 27,
Not clever,
He sits down
On the exclusive
Green leather.
It's late in the game
And most of the reds have gone.
He takes off his
Clip-on tie and bows with shame.
If only,
He laments,
The budget cue
He rents,
His refusal
Of a long and easy rest
Taking the low scoring yellow
Instead of
The smart safety of the green
The bloody difficult blue -
He could’ve easily potted,
But! outside the rules
The referee re-spotted,
The white gloves,
Pulling strings,
And ultimately
Nothing's
The thing
That he could do.
No Chas and Dave
To whistle,
A baying crowd of hacks
Bristle and
Laugh
At his marching shoes,
At missed pinks and blacks,
They go for the throat
Of his high-vis
Waistcoat.
The resentment grips,
The match a fix
And this’ll
Prove
What different
Result
It could've,
If the the match
Had been
On the
TV screen.

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