Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the squad
Not a player was stirring, although it sounds odd.
Matías Vecino had finally stopped running
And Borja had finally dispensed with his cunning.
Facundo was sleepy, soothed by gelato
And by smooth guitar jazz riffs played by Gonzalo.
Rafał Wolski and Jakub Błaszczykowski
Were decorating the tree with their Polish broskis.
Bakić and Báez were tucked in their beds,
While visions of starting danced in their heads.
Waylaying the tinsel were kittens so pesky
They’re almost as cute as our own Bernardeschi.
Tătărușanu's handing out presents to teammates,
Though his poor distribution means they’re mixed up as Shake-Weights.
But then who should descend into this holiday fest,
But the Della Valles with a hefty war chest?
New centerbacks, rightbacks, and pacey attackers,
All lined up and shiny, precise as nutcrackers.
With a wave of an arm and a twinkle of glasses,
Andrea goes flailing and dancing, then passes
On into the kitchen, for egg nog and cookies
From Jersey (they were sent to Pepito by Snooki).
Then leaves from the house, the nun at his side,
And ducks into dear Uncle Luca’s old ride;
They sing as they drive, to the tune of Rigoletto,
"Now let’s go out and win the Scudetto."
Huh? What Coppa Italia? We have no idea what you're on about. Okay, fine, here is our full coverage, but let's not talk about it.
Comment of the week
angga.fajar must not like the commentators very much.