for some reason I had this song going through my head earlier, and this seems like the perfect thread...
the lyrics for those not inclined to have Half Man Half Biscuit going in their heads after 30 35 (edited) years...
So he sent his doting mother
Up the stairs with the stepladder,
To get the Subbuteo,
Out of the loft.
He had all the accessories,
Required for that big-match atmosphere.
The crowd and the dugout,
And the floodlights, too.
And you'd always get palmed off
With a headless center-forward,
And a goal-kicker with no arms,
And he'd managed to get hold of
A Dukla-Prague Away Kit,
His uncle owned a sport shop
And he'd kept it to one side.
And after only five minutes
You'd be down to ten men,
Because he'd sent off your right back for taking the base from under his left winger.
Come to half-time, you were losing, four-nil.
Each and every goal, a hotly disputed penatly.
So you smash up the floodlights
And the game was abandoned,
And the dog would bark
And you'd be banned from his house.
And your travelling army
Of synthetic supporters
Would be taken away from you
And thrown in the bin.
And now he's working
In a job with a future.
He hands me my Gyro
Every two weeks.