Too early for pretzels, chips, or peanuts.
Too early for Brown Ale or a pint of Bass.
This morning begins like every other day,
with a pot of coffee, demanding pets fed.
Remotes find the obscure cable channels.
A five hour difference makes us get up to
watch games broadcasted from England.
I yell to him, he’d planned to get up too.
It’s football now instead of our old sport.
Its stats and standings replace baseball.
Its star players have replaced basketball.
Boxing Day replaces Christmas morning.
Magpies, Reds, Blues, Black Cats and Spurs
promise to outshine the lights of the tree.
Holidays have become too much work and
enjoying the season starts on this morning.
One day we’ll go there, is what we say.
Doesn't matter who we see, we’ll sit at the
edge of the pitch, we’ll have pies and tea
at half with shivering pink faced supporters.
We’ll wrap team scarves around our necks,
lose our voices from singing and when we go-
Rooney, Bale, and Gerrard will be long gone.
The money keeps us from reaching our goals.
