BECAUSE WE DID
(Written on the journey home from Lucerne in July 2014)
Because we did
– Yes, we did.
We won a Cup
– the Scottish Cup.
So here we were
By Lake Lucerne,
On the shore
– Saints On Tour.
We’d drawn the Swiss.
Some said dodgy,
None said easy,
Some said a piece of
– chocolate, Swiss of course.
Off to the land of Clocks
Cow Bells and Lederhosen.
Tents bought, beds booked,
All the routes were chosen.
Over high peaks and deeper waters
We’re used to that
– the Muirton Aces
The Saints were coming
– lock up your daughters.
So May’s out, and July’s in,
No, seriously, May’s out
– Anderson too!
Bring your boots – it could be you!
In dribs and drabs, Tuesday,
in fives and tens.
On they came, hundreds proud
In kilts and shorts, blues and whites
Cool in shades, with smiling faces,
– some smashing sights.
Bars were sortied, deep pockets needed.
Next month’s rent,
The Bairn’s Christmas,
Cancel the Big Shop
– all gone, but cheerfully spent.
Tactics talked, predictions wagered
Choirs practiced, anthems rehearsed,
Some lager rough, others sweet and versed
Then the Day – Saints on Tour
Lazy starts and morning strolls,
Litres of coffee, and bacon rolls.
Chapel Bridge, Pickwick Pub,
To pray with flags unfurled.
Nerves aside, just right now
The Saints on Tour – Top of the World.
The Anfield Bar rocked with hymns,
Sweet Caroline went Marching In
from the Anfield Bar
– You’ll Never Walk Alone
And we didn’t
– the Polis put us on a bus.
A bendy bus that bounced
And bounced and snaked
And bounced some more.
From the shore
– of Lake Lucerne to the Game,
Boiling hot, Steak Bake hot,
30 degrees and more the same.
Bannerman and Spence,
Pencils sharpened, Chords all gargled
– on they warbled.
– with his Mardi Gras Brolly.
If we win the game
he’d be on the Bolly.
In blazing sun, setting slow,
We sang, we cheered
Through the first half glare we peered.
The Swiss harried, they hit the bar yet
And tipped and caught
Their random efforts couldn’t find the net
The sun went down for a half time pie.
The Lavvy Truth reviewed and agreed,
Stay in the Tie – Stay in the Tie
A floating cross, Macca rose
Back o’ the Centre’s head,
Macca shuffled in a Saintly pose
To strike the net
We’d scored. We lead.
– one nil to the Saintees.
One Bloody Nil!
Storm Clouds burst.
Heavy showers of Booze Free Lager.
Bull Pen rattled, barriers clattered
An away goal – of course it mattered.
They huffed and puffed – they scored.
Stay in the Tie – Stay in the Tie.
We’ll take the draw and we did.
Cup-tie Mackay, a high-viz bib,
Lap of Honour to the Bull Pit fence.
A jersey gift – Turkey bound.
Happy, and tired but buzzing,
We left the ground, thirsty
with Lager fever for a fiver Lager.
Match Reports to write,
Memories to mould, songs to choose,
A long night for the Roadhouse Blues.
Friday Sunrise, Saturday Red Eyes,
Ones and twos, stragglers drifted
With bags packed and hearts full
Of pride – Saints on Tour.
At Nine Hundred and Seventy Five.
We’re still alive.
We all dream
Of a team
– of Dave Mackay’s
And we did – because we did
by glacial waters
Under alpine skies.
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