November 28th, 2005
A Valedictory sonnet for Georgie Best
Courtesy of Ernie Whalley (scribbled over lunch hour he tells me).
Farewell, Bestie, if not quite the best
You far outdribbled almost all the rest.
A salivatory genius in your youth,
Who could have far outgobbed El Hadji Djouf.
In midst of fulsome eulogies we beg
Time to consider poor Glyn Pardoe’s leg
And all the red and yellow cards and fines
For dissing those who ran the game or lines.
Indeed, were you contemporary of Keano
You two bad bastards would have had a beano.
Farewell, adieu, your fans all wave goodbye
As your soul flies to that Swamp up in the Sky.
We pray, as you traverse the stygian river
You never meet the guy who gave you his liver
Ernie Whalley
November 30th, 2005 at 7:03 pm
“We pray, as you traverse the stygian river
You never meet the guy who gave you his liver”
I’m wondering who has the final say on who can use a liver. I doubt if it’s the patient. They surely just wait and hope that the liver is suitable and that they are suitable recipients. Do we need to blame someone with an illness? I’d hate to see the numbers of people that read this that drink over the recomended limit every week and what way they’ll turn out, if they even live as long as George Best did.
November 30th, 2005 at 11:50 pm
I think the point of the poem is, the TV only showed - about every ten minutes - the mazy dribbles, the clever lobs. The nasty side of George the footballer (and there was one) seems to have been swept under the carpet - the comparison with Keano is not too fanciful and doubtless he’ll get the same treatment when he pops his clogs.
So far as the liver transplant goes, there seems no doubt that Bestie only got it because he was famous. If I was waiting for one and I read that someone famous had got one and then squandered it I think I’d be pretty p’d off.