Improved (hopefully) after a bit more thought
One year on from Saint Slippy's Day, The seanchaí Rodgers and his boss are discussing the upcoming game.
Brendan:
What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin, John Henry? No!! My fair cousin;
If I am mark’d to fail, we are enow
To see our team in loss; and if to win,
With fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, I wish not one man more (till next season).
By Jove, I am so covetous for silverware,
Nor care I who doth mention my net cost;
It yearns me not if men our replica shirts wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honours,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from Oslo.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, John, through our possession figures,
That he which hath no stomach for this fight,
Let him fly home; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his transfer fee;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Stevie.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Gerrard.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil taunt Blue neighbours,
(Those who say “To-morrow is Saint Slippy's Day.”)
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his tatts,
And say “These wounds I had upon this day.”
Old men forget; as Aldo shall forget,
But he’ll remember offsides and advantages,
What feats we did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words -
Stevie the King, Sturridge and Mignolet,
Lallana and Lambert, Ballotelli and Philippe -
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good Red teach his son;
And Stevie's Day shall ne’er slip by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered -
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he Uruguayan or vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in Liverpool now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they weren't in Hull,
And hold small manhoods cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Stevie's day.
John Henry: Err, Yes Brendan. Is that Stevie Bruce then?