The Perfect Season
by John May
We weren't to know that Two Thousand and Eleven Would finish akin to being in heaven
Practice matches started off our year And filled our hearts with some cheer
Gary framed our year in blocks Then evaluated the Borough stocks
Names meant nothing … form was chief As the coach built belief
There was no place for flashy lairs Under the coaching of Gary Ayres
The boys responded in fine style Winning many a game by a mile
Some clubs tried to come the knuckle But the Borough Boys refused to buckle
They did not weaken under pressure We seemed to have every teams' measure
Now the finals are about to start This will sort the wheat from chaff
Fev and co were no match They were never up to scratch
Northern Bullants went for broke Expecting the Borough to maybe choke
This didn't happen, we're not silly We had a date with old foe Willy
Played at Etihad under the roof Are we best … this is proof
We started slowly that's for sure But we'd done that more than once before
Slowly building a head of steam Hear our supporters start to scream
The third stanza was nip and tuck But for answers we were never stuck
The last quarter was full of glee As we put the sword to old Willy
The Borough faithful went beserk Some didn't even go to work
Shane's Best and Fairest in the comp Rosey's goals became a romp
Eight players in the year's best team Made coach of the year Ayresy beam
Toby showed the 'towners who was boss Won the medal … the 'Norman Goss'
Every player went hard ball To a man they all stood tall
In every contest they all stood true For the mighty Borough … Red and Blue
This attitude was the very reason Two Thousand and Eleven was 'The Perfect Season'
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