Tuesday, 22 January 2013

Poetry Corner.

I know what you're thinking - what's *really* been missing from the whole Lance circus is a piece in antidactylus trimeter...

I've been trying to think of a way
To express how I'm feeling today,
And I've had to conclude
That without being rude,
There just isn't a lot I can say.

So I'm giving up being polite
What I saw on the telly that night;
A controlled demonstration
To our consternation,
And to put it quite bluntly, 'twas shite.

This could have redeemed you, Armstrong,
I'm afraid that you played it all wrong.
To commute your 'life sentence'
You must show some repentance,
"They were telling the truth all along".

You tried to play 'poor little Lance',
But in lies you seem somewhat advanced.
Are we s'posed to forget
All those lives you have wrecked?
Do you really expect one more chance?

He admitted the dope, but just that;
And we couldn't escape from the fact
That try as he might
He could not seem contrite,
But he never said Betsy was fat! (so that's alright then)

Lance, it's going to take more than just shrugs
To repent a career based on drugs.
And I know you're perplexed
That we're all still so vexed
But too long you have played us for mugs.

For up 'til now, all of the while,
You were issuing quite a denial,
As stony of face
You would swear that the race
Was not won on the strength of a phial.

Just 'One big lie' that you repeated?
Can you not understand, we feel cheated?
You abridged your admission,
No display of contrition
To those clean cyclists that you defeated (and bullied, and ruined etc etc etc)

So, to the performance of Oprah,
Well, we wondered how well she might cope-rah
In the face of a snake,
But she made no mistake,
And it seemed she just gave him the rope-rah.

So what's next in line for our friend?
Books, movies and shows without end.
An E! Channel biopic
(The actor myopic)
And a musical on the West End?

Pardon me, but I think that it's funny
That what's important to him now ain't the money,
But the chance to don trunks
And line up with the hunks,
And get ready to bike, swim and run-ny.

Now what is the moral of this tale?
That in time every cheater will fail
Efforts not to get caught
In the end come to naught
Hell, you might even end up in jail!


With sincere apologies to Dr Alice Miller, who probably will never see this, but wrote the entire first verse and half of the second in the mid 1990's at Maynard School.  It's been trapped in my subconscious ever since.

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