Courtesy of US Soccer Daily editor Matt comes a whimsical Friday ode to USMNT head man Bob Bradley, in the form of a poem. It's a Match Fit USA first.
by Matt - US Soccer Daily
With six months to go, Bob sits and he stares;
The stress is so great, he's lost all his hairs.
The missus walks in and asks him "What's the trouble?"
"It's this final 23, I want it done on the double."
But injuries and form and transfers abound,
With some young guys in Scandinavia still waiting to be found.
"What about Tracy, Bedoya?" Bob asked his pet brontosaurus.
"I guess we'll just have to wait for the match against Honduras."
"Then there's Findley, EJ, Jeff" he said in a voice so wheezy.
"And I'd be remiss to forget about number 9, Chuck Deezy!"
His wife added, "You'll be killed if you start Casey or Ching,
and did you hear DMB has his own line of bling?"
"DaMarcus!" Bob exclaimed in another great whail.
"He's so quick and dangerous, but man is he frail.
If only he could stay healthy in his time at Ibrox,
But the SPL dishes out far too many knocks..."
He rubbed his forehead and let out a powerful sigh,
When the computer screen caught the attention of his eye.
"Freddy? In Greece? Wait, what are they saying?
He's there for 18 months, they think he'll be playing?!?
The chaos was too much, so he got ready for bed,
with images of South Africa dancing in his head.
He opened a closet filled with nothing but sweatpants,
And continued to mutter several stray thoughts and rants.
"Now Boca's on the bench looking like Freddy Adu,
and Jonathan at West Ham is getting passed over, too.
At least Jozy is starting, but he can't buy a goal.
And on his confidence, such a dry spell could surely take its toll."
"But what about Clint?" his wife said as she sipped some gazpacho.
"He's been playing so well, and did you see that golazo?"
"You're right, that is nice" Bob said through a frown.
"Let's just hope no crazy Englishman tries to bring him down."
"And recoveries have gone well" she added as she fed their pet ferret.
"Gooch is looking good, and Watford have brought back DeMerit!
Even Charlie could play, that boy is tougher than a keg!"
And Bob joyfully burst into his own stanky legg.
"You're right, there is still some good after all;
I've got so many options that I could possibly give a call.
There's so many young guys," he said, as he munched on a Rolo,
"And there's some seasoned veterans, like ol' Steve Cherundolo!"
"And our keepers are strong" Bob said, feeling like anything but a coward.
"Who can boast a pair as strong as Brad Guzan and Timmy Howard?
Those English should be worried, from Beckham to Cappello,
and that Rooney guy, too, what a troll-like fellow."
"Mikey's doing well too," Mrs. B added with a smile.
"We haven't had a midfield this deep in quite awhile!
And Stuart is heading to Europe, along with Rico;
I'm sure they'll do great wherever they go!"
The words of his wife gave Bob more comfort and hope.
The pressure was significant, but he felt he could cope.
He now looked forward, feeling optimistic, strong, and prepared.
"We're one of the world's best, and we never play scared."
The path to the SA was one filled with downs and ups,
but he genuinely felt his team could end up lifting the cup.
"Why not?" he said. "We've already beat Spain!
Why can't we make the rest of the world share in their pain?"
Excited, he stood up, glanced at his calendar, and circled a date.
"March 3rd in Amsterdam; boy, I can hardly wait."
