Olympiaddled
After all the medal hauls
After all the skilful sculls
After all the bats and balls
After all the oars and hulls
After all the punch and kick
After all the spikes and spokes
The far from jolly hockey stick
After all the streaks and strokes
After all the hands and feet
After all the bars and gates
The coming round, the baking heat
All that stepping to the plate
After all the climbs and twirls
After all the aching joints
The way that every flag unfurls
The marks, the tallies and the points
After broken chains and chins
The ones that didn’t go to script
The ones unsteady on their pins
The fourth-placed and the finely-pipped
After all the sturm und drang
After all the ‘Should we ban them?’
The happy mouths that almost sang
Each very dreadful national anthem
After all the hops and hoops
The ribbon and the balance beams
The goals, the chop blocks and the scoops
The hopes, the heartache and the dreams
After all the pivot, tuck
The pommel, peleton and pike
The penhold, penalty and puck
The smash, the volley and the strike
After all the song and dance
After all the dope and fraud
The scoring where we looked askance
The ticket touting (how we roared!)
After all the algae troubles
After wild cards, making ripples
After all the double doubles
After all the triple triples
After Bolt the Bolt, and Mo
After Wiggo, after Trott
After Biles and after Cho
After Murray, after Scott
Where will we find competition?
Where are brand new thrills to spill?
Maybe Labour’s grand tradition:
Jezza 1 and Owen 0
