‘Twas the days before Christmas, when all through Park Lane
The bars were all stirring, because of a game;
Big Ange studied footage to look for exploits,
In hopes that St. Sonny would secure us three points;
The squad was preparing, down in the sheds,
While visions of glory danced in their heads;
Not Bissouma or Udogie, who wouldn’t be capped,
Being naughty, they’d been sent for a long winter’s nap;
When outside the stadium there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the Skywalk I flew like a flash,
Looked down from the cockerel, awaiting the clash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to Chirpy below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
A glistening head, and a ginger goatee;
Gravelly tones: “Feck, they’ll be up top come Fill-dyke!”
I knew in a moment it must be Sean Dyche.
More rapid than eagles his Toffees they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Pickford! now, Branthwaite! now, Calvert and Lewin!
On, Keane! on Tarkowski! I’ve got a stew cookin’!
To the rear of the pitch! Defend like a wall!
Now counter! and counter! and counter it all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, are dispatched to the sky,
So up from the North of London they flew,
With the squad full of rubbish, and Sean Dyche himself too.
As Ange-ball, in a twinkling, had made the defense go “poof”,
The Blues were unable to do much but hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down from the box came Dan Levy with a bound.
He was dressed in a suit, from his head to his foot,
With cash in his hand, something new was afoot!
This miraculous manager he was ready to back,
As he opened the coffers like a peddler opening his pack.
The fans celebrated, the atmosphere merry!
While Dyche’s cheeks and goatee shone like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the top of his head was as white as the snow;
He was grumpy and strained, as he muttered sternly,
“I guess at least we aren’t feckin’ Burnley!”
As a ten-point deduction had filled his side with dread,
Due to financial naughtiness leaving them in the red;
Ange spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Tearing the Toffees apart like a bear gone berserk;
Ginger Mourinho wrinkled his nose,
And giving a nod, from the bench up he rose;
He sprang to his team bus, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“SPURS ARE WINNING THE LEAGUE, THEY FECKIN’ SHOWED THAT TONIGHT!”
How to Watch
Tottenham Hotspur vs. Everton
Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, London, UK
Saturday, December 23, 2023
Time: 10:00 a.m. ET, 3:00 p.m. UK
TV: Not televised in UK or USA. Check international listings at livesoccertv.com
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