Monday, funday. Sometimes flashes of the weekend past are all you need to power through a desk and a computer based morning, when all you can really think of, or want to think of, is the weekend you’ve had, the football played, the sights you’ve seen (HUNDREDS OF GERMANS CROSSING THE ROAD WHEN THE GREEN MAN WAS NOT THERE!) and other such unexpected delights. As we continue to digest what was an epic weekend, and to let PVarley compose his particular peon to the Belgian men, I’m going to pass on this little gem, from our freckled Fraulein roving poet/reporter, a Wordsworth inspired ode. Look at that. Culture. How fancy. And its for you. For free.
You’re welcome, you can thank me later.
But here it is, an Ode to München (not inspired by Giselle Bundchen)
An ode to München
(by Sylvia McCarthy)
We wander purposefully as a team
That floats round Europe, balls in hand
Our boots dry, our jerseys clean
Into Munich we did land.
Farewell Belgium, we’re turning German
(my mind is blank, what rhymes with merman?)
Breaking free from the Benelux theme
Our bags were packed, we were on the way
It was time to live the European dream
With As and Bs, the tiger and the grey.
Old and new faces were our foes
Torrents of rain and ants our woes
Facing Vienna, Paris, Zurich and our hosts
Our Bs were divine, our As were supreme,
It would not be fair to boast
But even the sun admired the scene
Grainne swooped and Margaux soared
Our men on the sideline drank beer and roared
With a happy mind and aching muscles
I think of Munich and wish I’d stayed
Back at my desk in the office in Brussels
This is of what dreams are made.
Next up: September and the Swedes
Where Belgium will once more be Dancing Queens.