A festive little ditty or two to keep us all in the post-derby party mood… Happy Xmas, one and all.

I had thought about filling this entire column with festive ditties basking in our derby win.  But it’s now a week and a half since that glorious afternoon, and as Paul Lambert told the club website before the Derby win:

“It was great for the fans and I’m sure they have basked in it for a few days but you quickly have to move on to the next one.  It is important we don’t dwell on it, it’s finished, it’s over…”

As ever, he’s right, so I’ve decided to rise above childish gloating.  We should be better than that; after all, we only diminish ourselves by poking fun with compositions like:

God rest ye merry Norwich men,
Let nothing you dismay.
For every week it seems we see
Another fine display.
But down the A140
Everything has gone astray:
No tidings of comfort for Roy,
Comfort for Roy,
No tidings of comfort for Roy.

We only appear smug and ungracious in victory by crowing.  Like this, for example:

We all know how quickly things can change in football.  Hubris is invariably punished at some point, so it would be foolish to indulge in this sort of thing when we still have to visit Portman Road this season…

Have yourself a merry yellow Christmas,
Let your heart be light.
Always you-know-what
Upon the blue and white.
Have yourself a merry yellow Christmas,
Revel while you may,
It’s four months
Until we take them on away…

Besides, to keep going on about our neighbours elevates them to an importance in our lives which is both unhealthy and undeserved – though drawing parallels between their current situation and our recent history is probably acceptable:

In the bleak midwinter, Ipswich fans made moan,
They looked at the table: falling like a stone.
Loans kept coming, loans on loans, loans on loans,
Like we had with Roeder, not so long ago.

And simply paying homage to our own heroes is surely unobjectionable:

Good King Lambert lookèd out

From his high position

(Serving out a two-match ban

For an indiscretion).

Brightly shone the team that day

We could have scored seven,

Wouldn’t have mattered, I would say,

If they’d had ele-e-ven.

For lo, a shining star was seen in the East…

Long time ago in cold Carlisle, so the Sky Sports Yearbook^* say,
Mrs Holt’s boy, baby Grant, was born on Palm Sunday^†.
Barrow, Rochdale, Shrewsbury,

For these sides and more he played
But he will live for evermore because of derby day.

(^*previously the Holy Rothmans; ^†12 April 1981, apparently)

Nothing wrong with that at all, I think – though the following may be deemed to come close to crossing the line again:

I saw three goals go flying in
From Captain Holt, from Captain Holt;
I saw three goals go flying in
From Captain Holt in the s*** game.

And then we scored another one,
From Hoolahan, Wes Hoolahan,
You might say that we scored for fun,
At Carrow Road in the s*** game.

Oh, I know these rhymes aren’t insightful.  And they may seem rather spiteful.  Better take a deep breath and blow – let it go, let it go, let it go…

Merry Christmas, all.