Dear Mr Bruce...

What happend on the pitch on Saturday against West Brom is about as far away from poetry as you can get, however, that's been the case for a number of weeks now, and something, anything needs to be done to halt the slide we find ourselves on.

Nothing seems to be getting through to Brucey at the moment, so we're giving poetry a try. Maybe that's what the big fella understands? Who knows... It's certainly worth a shot though.

And with that I reveal to you, my latest Roker Rhyme entitled "Dear Mr Bruce..."

Dear Mr Bruce, you're making this tough,
By having our team, serve up so much guff.
One point in eight games, we're looking down and not up,
Another rubbish season, didn't do well in a cup.

So what's going on Brucey, what needs to be done?
To steady this ship, to stop the bad run?
We can't defend at the moment, and are toothless up top,
Sess, Steed, Ricco, no-one will have a pop.

We're better than West Brom, of this I am sure,
But we need you to sort this, we're relying on a cure.
As the bottom's getting closer, it's depressing n'all,
To see our beloved club, trapped in freefall.

Are you regretting not recruiting, a man to score goals?
Our goals for column, is showing a few holes.
I may be alone here, but I'm not convinced, man,
That the answer to our problems, is Asamoah Gyan.

Well, maybe that's harsh, but give him a hand,
'Cos Sess and Muntari, haven't worked out as planned.
And the defence is laughable, Mensah's fitness a joke,
With Turner just back, playing like he's had a stroke.

Our midfield's garbage, but that shouldn't be the case,
Cattermole's a fine player, young Jordan is ace.
But you need to get you head around, what will make them tick,
As these spineless displays, are making us sick.

Ask me and I'm with you, don't want you to get the sack,
But take on board that faith, and give me something back.
It's gone on too long now, this post-Christmas bad demise,
We want to see a win, not more to despise.

So please Mr Bruce, sort it out, just for me,
'Cos I'm struggling to be nice here, you're shaking my tree.
But until then we're still with you, we want you to succeed,
With your massive round belly, and your bright red heed.

Quinny will stick by you, it's Ellis that matters,
And I hope you impress, not leave your career in tatters.
To be fair, next time out, our team are all crocked,
Give us a 6-0 win please, go on, leave us shocked.

I'm going now, Steve, but please take a note,
That we're cheering for you, we're in the same boat.
But if the unthinkable happens, as this form's kinda shown,
Then sorry ol' Brucey, then you're on your own.

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