“What’s The Story?” … ‘Postecoglory’! (Redemption)

by John C. Traynor May 24, 2022

Unsung, enigmatic, plucked out of the east;
his remit, transition - from famine to feast.
By dint of migration a proud Aussie Greek -
his grasp of our ethos instinctive and deep.
A pedigree peerless in Oz and Japan:
none quite like Postecoglou had graced this fair land.

Unleashed amid howls of derision and scorn
from detractors, of impartiality shorn.
Wrong-footed, ill-briefed, of all insight devoid -
from the off Ange ragdolled them, their egos destroyed.
Scribes, analysts, pundits forensically sussed;
Antipodean bluntness - a media nonplussed.

Calamitous start - haunting knell of near past;
still he stuck to his guns, to his tenets held fast.
As the tide duly turned, concept ‘Angeball’ gained pace …
Postecoglou swept up in a faithful embrace …
and renewed kindred spirit welled up in the stands -
a rock-solid bond between mentor and fans.

With the doctrine entrenched and the ranks reinforced;
as the players bought in … Ange’s tactics endorsed …
so the mindset bore fruit, the performance beguiled -
ripe the harvest erelong and imperious the style.
Early silverware pay-off, “... and Oh! what a scene -
the terraces were covered in banners of green!”

Expedient shutdown, opposed by just one;
a commonweal triumph - bald self-interest shunned.
A viral hiatus - scarce too much to ask;
behemoths arrayed - which in glory would bask?
Come the crunch head-to-heads … Newco’s valley of tears …
brought to heel, then devoured by its innermost fears.

On the cusp of the ‘Split’, handy cushion secured;
the title that beckoned, a font of allure.
One last push, seal the deal, let the ‘grand’ people sing;
redemption at hand - epic feat on the wing.
Veiled optimism - cautious, but hard to suppress;
prize there for the taking, why hanker for less?

Dour Dingwall … with tension, so palpably fraught;
control absolute - but long fragile, nerves taut.
To ‘Paradise’, fronting the Govan undead -
that heady concoction of yearning and dread!
Scorned chances to clinch it, thus waved them back in;
praise God, didn’t buckle - so, prospects undimmed.

False start back at our place, Hearts rocked us - and how!
Dug deep, reeled them in, turned the screw, felt them bow.
Pursuers deflated - had hoped we might choke;
not that team, not that day - rich folklore invoked.
All done bar the shouting … checkmate … one more point;
just to make it official, our saviour anoint.

Then, Tannadice … seat of much drama erstwhile;
adversary rooted … like us … in exile.
The spoils hot contested - no night for faint hearts;
but, “We. Never. Stop.” … flat out, right from the start.
So, mission accomplished - our chutzpah restored -
an icon elect … die-hard Celt to the core.

Impassively deadpan, as if hewn from rock;
an aura of clout harking back to ‘Big Jock.’
Reviving our spirit, our faith and our pride;
our sense of tradition - that warm glow inside.
Tomorrow, take stock - ask yourself, “What’s The Story?”
… for now, though, just wallow in ‘Postecoglory’!

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