It was the night before the world cup

Twas the night before the world cup, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The wall charts were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Sepp Blatter would never be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Ronlado free kicks in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just sky plussed all her soaps to be watched while I had a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed fearing the arrival of Sepp Blatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen dew
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects in view.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny football players.

With a little old driver, so confused ready to annoy,
I knew in a moment it must be St Roy.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
Over an upside down map and called them by name!

"Now Rooney! now, Gerrard! now, Barkley and Jones!
On, Baines! On, Henderson! And on Smalling decked in head phones!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of balls, and St Hodgson too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little boot.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Hodgson came with a bound.

He was dressed all in tweed, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with spilled red wine and soot.
A bundle of England shirts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a Del Trotter, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair on his head was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had visions of the 2010 season with which to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He handed me a shirt along with a flag, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew away in the direction of Partick Thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘as he flew out if sight,
"A good World Cup to all, and to all a good-night!"