My All-time Dream Xi

Between the sticks, Theoklitos
From Australia he came;
But harshly he was jettisoned
After just one game.

At right-back Jon Ostemobor
Had electrifying pace;
But sadly it was only used
To run to the wrong place.

The left side of the back four
Was proudly, briefly held
By a no-mark from the Netherlands
Named Fernando Derveld.

To keep it tight at centre-back
Is integral to the plot;
Although the memo never reached
The hapless Kevin Scott.

Coolness under pressure, though
Is a staple in a melee;
So for services to bear hugs,
Give it up for Ginger Pele!

The right side of the midfield four
Think Barnes, think Tony Daley;
Speed and skills and flair and thrills,
Or Simon bloody Whaley.

On the left, and quite bereft
Of anything worth selling,
The overrated genius
Of Christopher Llewellyn.

The centre circle was the home
Of a grumpy Gallic stooge;
He came, he saw, he got sent off
Merci pour rien, Le Juge.

His partner in the engine room
The greasy-haired Canary
Least likely to complete a pass
The Jewson League’s Shaun Carey.

When we came down in ninety-five
A fire sale fans were fearing
Although their fears were realised,
At least we ditched Mike Sheron.

When we came down in zero-five
A new hero was born;
Thirty-six games and just one goal
Good riddance, Peter Thorne.

No star team would be complete
Without a man to lead them
But Paul Lambert is not the man
For this long walk to freedom.

If managers are music bands
Then this twat is Toploader
The most offensive known to man
Is patently Glenn Roeder.