"They're laughing at us in the South son.
They may say that they're not but they are,
and I really can't say that I blame them."
said my dad as he leaned on the bar.

He took a long drink of his pint then
and continued, "it's not only our team,
it's all of the 6 nations countries
that have gone to the dogs it would seem."

"Against Canada our boys they were dreadful,
but Carthorse he saved us that game,
By half-time against Oz we were beaten
in the Quarters I foresee just the same."

"The French", he said and then finished his drink,
"and the Irish, or so many thought,
both had a chance of beating the 'Blacks".
"No chance!" came my speedy retort.

"Outplayed by the Pumas" the barman cut in,
"and the Irish, well what can I say?"
"going out in the group stage" I replied with a sigh
"their best chance is to kneel down and pray".

"The All Blacks just destroyed the Italians,"
said my dad, "who had hoped to do well,
it's between them and the Scots for the quarters
where the winner'll bid the World Cup farewell"

"and what about the defending World Champions?,
pushed hard by the U.S. of A.,
then the Springboks gave them quite a beating
and they've Samoa and Tonga to play"

"It's not looking too good for the quaters,
and the semi's a far distant dream,
filled with teams from the South of the planet,
or so at the mo it would seem"

"but at least we still have the beer boy,"
said my dad, "and the more that we sup,
Wales' chances will increase with the minutes,
'till we're odds on to win the World Cup!"

I don't know, poems are like buses........

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