Sir Ricky Sbragia - The Perfect Season lyrics

Mr O'Neil strode out triumphantly onto the hallowed turf. This was his moment his time had come. Within seconds he was swarmed by his players, never in human history has there been a more courageous group of titans representing the creed of mackemdom. Yes, 2013 seen the year that the Mackem rose to the height of his forefathers; he was a champion once again. Yet it had not always seemed liekly to be so; the summer signings of Balotelli, Hummels and Drogba, each attracted by the powerful charisma and charm of Mr O'Neil had seen SAFC roar into a stunning lead in the PL season, leading by 6 points on Christams day. Gordon, ably a**isted by the form of the trio of Vaughan, Hummels and Brown, had marshalled a defence the likes not seen in this country before, which a midfield inspired by the creative genius of Sess and Mcelan and the guile of Colbeck had provided sufficient support to the attack of Gyan, Drogba and Balotelli, the former of whom had his apolgies for leaving accepted after expalining his treatment at the hands of Bruce and the latter of whom joined after being persuaded of the socialist values of the club and commitmment to development in his native land. Hopes of the title had been seemingly dashed when nearest competitors Team Manchester Red had secured a 1-0 vicotory over the elite lads of the north east following a controversial penalty decision against the plucky defenders of mackemdom, the first in a host of 'honest mistakes' which threatended to thwart the title bid og those pure of heart. The last day of the season saw a Sunderland side relying on their fierce opposents of the deiils red dropping points at the unlikely saviours of Stoke City. As the clock ticked towards the 95th minute all hope seemed lost as the potters trailed by a single goal, before the ball broke on the edge of the penalty box. As the ball broke a s shiver of light alight the mane of one Kenyne Jones as the spirit of Stokoe soared through his child, as Jones silkily sidestepped two challnages before slotting the ball past a despairing De Gea. Mackemdom errupted as an 8-0 final day victory over the Mag had condemmned his sorry cohorts to relegation, as he sulked back to his pastry crusted, gravy sipping magdom fresh in the knowledge that Mackemdom had won the war. A reluctant MON was coaxed onto the pitch by his beaming squad, with former hellraiser Balotelli thanking MON, as his 'manager and father'. Ina stirring championship address Mr O'neil gave a ralying cry to mackemdom as the pilgrims descended upon the temple of gold, 'tell me my children, tell me that you never doubted this. Tell me that you never despaired. Tell me that your always belived this would be the season I would give wings to your deareest dreams dreams.' His stiriing speech saw a denounciation of the governemnt and of the vicious press forces of the magedia who had violated all conceptions embedded in society which offered a progressive mackem vision; leading to the governement collapsing and widespread abandoment of the rags which attacked the new wave of social pressure. This charming, personable, inspirational, understated man. This was his hour. But the day belonged to soemthing more than a man, it belonged to an idea. Mackemdom had risen and was a force to be recognised.