If you crave live football you’ll reach for Sky
It’s the opiate apple of this nation’s eye
Premiership show ponies turning their tricks
Interspersed with occasional lower league fix
Was best viewed in HD, now usurped by 3D
Update your subscription, replace your TV
Cutting edge bleeds an extortionate price
As they break to the adverts: “Back in a trice…”
Each baby-spoon dollop of partisan love
Is formula from Murdoch’s monopoly above
Directed, reflected by pundits in suits
Sofas, glass tables, and fake plastic fruits
90 minutes spun out beyond extra time
By oxygen thieves who’re well past their prime
Old lags talking shop, won’t they give it a rest?
As they wheel in their next slack-jawed studio guest
To recount and dissect each “key” pitch-side act
Accompanied by graphics heralding each fact
The focus of this interminable drivel
Is controversy, drama, a Gazza-like snivel
Or restless, the camera pans over the crowd
(Noise reduction employed so they can’t curse too loud)
Seeking out pretty girls, fancy dress, northern belly
Skipping on as each twigs that they’re caught by the telly
Post-match interviews needle then ink the tattoo
Disingenuous demagogues turning the screw
As managers explode, incandescent with rage
Point the finger at scapegoats: tomorrow’s back page
One thing’s for sure, whoever got beat
It’s a media circus: roll up, take a seat!
It’s always full though the exit door’s spinning
And BSkyB’re the ones who’re winning
No comments:
Post a Comment