05/08/2025
A Demon of a Twist
The Demons sat slumped in the coach’s box,
Their game plan had more holes than socks.
With fumbles, stumbles, kicks astray—
The board said, “Time to part our way.”
The coach got canned, they said, “You’re done!”
Packed his whistle, kissed the sun.
Players shrugged, fans cracked a beer—
“Maybe now we’ll win next year!”
But as the footy world took stock,
A rumour spread and caused a shock:
A whisper, soft, began to grow—
“Nathan Buckley’s keen, you know…”
The Collingwood king with silver hair,
Might coach the Dees? Mate, pull up a chair!
From Pies to Demons—what a laugh,
Old Bucks back in a coaching path.
Imagine his face in red and blue,
Trying to teach Petracca what to do.
With Max Gawn beard oil in his hand,
Giving halftime speeches oh-so bland.
“We don’t lose games—we gift ‘em flair!”
He’d shout, while brushing back his hair.
The Pies fans cry, the Dees fans cheer—
“Is that Buckley yelling in our ear?!”
So here’s to footy, weird and wild,
Where logic’s lost and chaos smiled.
The coach is gone, the script is loose—
And Buckley’s waiting… in a Demon’s noose.
