Down under, in Oz, over here,
There is no football, my dears,
This is a tale so drear,
A footy champion, once held dear,’
He died of no football, no cheers,
We buried him at the ground, now austere,
His tumulus amounded each year,
We’d drive by, pouring a libation of beer,
The tumbleweeds blew,
The grass long and shaggy grew,
At the bar, no bevvies, no beers,
The bar fridge, empty, also austere,
The BBQ cold now, so drear,
His ute rusted away, quite near,
So we’d pass by, pouring a libation of beer,
Really sad, to die of no football, my dears,
A tale from Oz, over here,
F….it, after Covid, we’ll have a beer!
Baby Boomer Scribblings. 