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john davies
notes from a small vicar
from a parish
in Liverpool, UK

    Sunday, December 05, 2004
    What's the frequency, Tommy?
     


    "What's the frequency, Tommy?" you're this season's dream, uh-huh
    You were brain-dead, worn out, numb, like Gary Speed
    I thought I'd pegged you an idiot's dream
    Bog-eyed vision on the Sky TV screen
    I never understood the frequency, uh-huh
    You blew our expectations out of the air, uh-huh

    I'd studied your free-kicks, fouls and stares in footy magazines
    Moyesey said, "Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy"
    You smile while giving rivals tooth for a tooth
    You're 28 but moving with the freedom of youth
    You wear a shirt of royal blue, uh-huh
    I never understood the frequency, uh-huh

    "What's the frequency, Tommy?" you're this season's dream, uh-huh
    Butterfly stitches, midfield general, hogging the scene
    You smile while giving rivals tooth for a tooth
    You're suddenly moving with the freedom of youth
    You wear a shirt of royal blue, uh-huh
    I never understood the frequency, uh-huh
    You blew our expectations out of the air, uh-huh

    I couldn't understand
    You're suddenly moving with the freedom of youth, uh-huh
    I couldn't understand
    You wear a shirt of royal blue, uh-huh
    I couldn't understand
    I never understood you're fine with me, uh-huh

    (Inspired by the observation at yesterday's match that the phenomenal Thomas Gravesen looks - and plays - like Michael Stipe on steroids...)