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Des T Tuit, over at footballpoets.org has been quick to react to Roy Keane's departure from Old Trafford.

The Boss

"Tramps like us, baby we were born to run"

And so I ran
From box to box
Up pitch and down
Lengthways
Widthways (touch to touch)
Sideways (crab like)
Raiding (grab like)
Then parading
Whenever victory, came our way

But I preferred it, this servitude
Couldn't have coped, with the repsonsibility, that faced the Boss
Tramping up and down the line
Dishing out orders, (like the soup kitchens we too often frequent)
Or the frustrations, he experienced
As his instructions, either went unheeded
Or lack of ability, impeded, compliance

Taking the level up a notch, or six or so
Could you ever imagine Roy Keane
Having the aptitude to be a manager?