A poem for Phil Brown

It's a great shame that the whipping of your dour football team,
has been clouded by the imaginary events that have been vented from your spleen.
Sometimes it is much harder to take defeat like a man,
even if losing was not part of Hull's great world dominating masterplan.

The match itself saw your team fight with all their might,
even if some of the delaying tactics were somewhat less than being polite.
So why not concentrate on what you and your team have achieved,
rather than flying off the handle and subjecting the public to a lunatic on heat.

I know you see yourself as the headset wearing big daddy of the world,
but criticising the opposition's fashion sense does seem more than bit absurd.
While it also appears that your memory may be playing tricks on you,
next you'll be saying that Fat Sam is a slim altruist who comes from Timbuktu.

All that has passed your lips in recent days smells distinctly of sour grapes,
in contrast our 'whinging' Arsene has behaved with a great dignity and grace.

Whatever the motives are behind your transformation into a deranged freak,

I hope you learn the valuable lesson that it pays to think before you speak.