May you enjoy the same success as John Stones in chasing his dream,
Be as beloved by your next set of fans as is the big haired Maroaune Felliani,
May your gaffer see you as a but a bench-warming left-wing-back, and, no use to the 1st team,
Send you promptly to the reserves, before being transferred; much like Nicky ´Judas´ Barmby.

May you wallow in the brilliant vision of all your future Chairmen,
Nothing but the real blingy-bling, much like old ´Mad Dog´ Gravesen,
And when all the avarice and the caprice eventually does your head in, to L4 beg a return,
Head bowed and with your tail between your legs; only to be chucked on the substitutes bench.

May you develop the all goal scoring prowess of a mercurial Angell,
Be as valuable as a profligate young Goon-er Jeffers, and most of all,
May the few goals you do actually get come solely from the intervention of your own misplaced,
Yet very fortuitous arse; much like that eternal red-shite, the ever-poxy Dirk Kuyt.

May you continue to piss in your pants, whenever a top six defender,
Upon you does advance; Vertongen, Kompany and even David `Sideshow Bob´ Luiz,
All leave you quaking at the knees. You, a 6-foot t, 15 stone little spoilt brat,
Then has a big sulk, and wishes dearly that Sunderland AFC are soon to turn up.

Premierships, Champions Leagues, and all kinds of glory you now believe,
Are yours but to turn up and glean, just like a youthful Jack Rodwell a mere short while back;
A winners medal may at last be within his reach, if the Black Cats do a Championship title achieve,
But hark! Nevermind - if you find yourself in career freefall, I am sure Mina Riaola has your back!