Twas the night before the deadline, when all through Motspur Park
Not a rumor was unfounded, no matter how stark.
The contracts were typed, read, and reviewed with care,
In hopes that Mitroglou soon would be there.
The supporters anxiously were surfing the web,
While visions of Holtby danced in their head.
And Sarah Brookes in her Armani, and I in my McBride shirt
Had just had a Twitter exchange in which I attempted to flirt.
When out at the Cottage arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my iPhone to see what was the matter.
Away to the TV I flew like a flash,
And turned on Sky Sports hoping Khan had spent cash.
The glow from the telly on my wide-eyed face,
Gave the lustre of hope all over the place.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Fresh, talented signings we needed so dear.
With a mustachioed owner, so lively and healthy,
I found myself saying, "Thank God he's so wealthy!"
Better late than never his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name!
"Now Kostas! Now Lewis! Now, Ashkan and Kaca!
On, Dempsey! On Maarten! On Kieran and Brede!
To the top of the Cottage! To the top of the Hammy End!
Avoid the drop! Avoid the drop! Avoid it 'til the end!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with the other clubs, aim for the sky.
So up, up the table the coursers they flew,
With delirious supporters and Shahid Khan too!
And then in a twinkling I heard in my head,
A voice that said the Premier League era surely's not dead.
As I caught my breath and let out a sigh,
I knew with a transfer (or three) the end was not nigh.
Khan was covered in fur from cheek to cheek,
And his Savile Row suit was pressed and oh so neat.
A gaggle of signings he made with a cheque,
And he looked like he'd saved us from a near certain wreck.
His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples so merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the mustache on his lip was as black as a crow.
His accountant looked sick as he balanced the books,
But he basked in the glory of satisfied looks.
Khan had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
He was mustachioed and comedic, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a swipe of his card,
Soon gave me to know he really was trying hard.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his duty,
And filled Rene's team sheet at the expense of precious booty.
And twisting his mustache and inking his pen,
He gave a strong nod and said, "My God, we must win!"
He sprang to his Benz, to his team gave a whistle,
And up the table they flew, like the shot of a missile.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere the window slammed shut,
"Happy Deadline Day to all, let's get out of this rut!"