[IF] If Colgan can keep Leicester's headers out when all about him Are fluffing tackles and blaming it on Daveys Tactics, If you can trust Heckingbotham at left back when all men doubt you But make allowance for their doubting too, If Nardiello can wait for that chance and not be tired by waiting, Or being made to wait for a deal, we don't give out deals early, Or being hated by fickle fans, don't give way to hating, And yet hope they don't laik too cavalier, nor play too deep: If you can dream that Leeds will not win--and not make dreams your master, If you can think Hull might lose--and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with winning and losing And know that drawing & losing is just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by jounalists to make a trap for fans, Or watch the things you gave your free time to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out kitchenware: If you can make one heap of a mess with all your rambling And risk it all on one gamble of an unproven manager, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word to the press about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing left to say Except the Will which says to them: "Points per game!" If you can talk to the fans and without being condescending, Or hob-nob with fellow chairmen--nor lose the common touch, If neither fans nor luvvy board members can hurt you; If all fans count with you, but none too much, If you can fill the unforgiving Radio Sheffield Interview With sixty seconds' worth of waffle, Yours is another season in the Championship and everything that's in it, And--which is more--you'll be a Barnsley Chairman, my Gord! --Ruddyarsed Kipperling [IF] If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you But make allowance for their doubting too, If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream--and not make dreams your master, If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much, If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son! --Rudyard Kipling