Henry V joins in - for Mr C

Who's he that travels so?
My fellow Barnsley fan? Yes, my fair cousin;
If we are beaten by Robins, we are now
To do our town loss; and if to survive,
The Barnsley men, the greater team of South Yorkshire.
Flitcroft's will! I pray thee, wish for one goal more.
By Glavin, I am not covetous of Leeds,
Nor care I who doth reside in Sheffield;
It yearns me not if men in other football shirts wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet Barnsley,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my fan, wish not a man from Tarn.
Cryne's peace! I would not lose the Championship honour
As eleven men methinks would tear from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one point!
Rather win it, Barnsley, through my team,
That he which hath no stomach for this match,
Let him depart; his ticket shall be paid,
And pennies for bus fare put into his purse;
We would not lose in Flitcroft's company
That fears his team to lose with us.
This day is call'd the Battle of Yorkshire.
He that survives this day, and comes home with the points,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is remember’d,
And rouse him at the name of Barnsley.
He that shall sing this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil beset his West Yorkshire neighbours,
And say 'Tomorrow is Flitcroft Day.'
Then will he roll up his sleeve and show his tattoos,
And say 'These tattoos I had on Flitcroft day.'
Old fans forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with tattoos,
What players he saw that day. Then shall their names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Steele the Keeper, Wiseman, Kennedy and Cranie,
Lazarus and O’Brien, Perkins and Etuhu, Mellis, Dagnall and O’Grady-
Be in their flowing form freshly rememb'red.
This team shall the good fan teach his son;
And David Flitcroft shall ne'er go by,
From Saturday to the ending of football,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fans, we happy fans, we band of brothers;
For he today that shouts his throat hoarse with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so fine,
This day shall arouse his passion;
And gentlemen in Barnsley now in the pub
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their pints cheap whilst any speaks
That sang with us upon David Flitcroft’s day.

 

Mayhap the great bard may find his way to the BBS!!!