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Limberick the manager, clueless and lost,
Blamed every defeat on some terrible cost.
“When luck isn’t with us,” he’d say with a frown,
“That’s why we keep tumbling, can’t hold the crown!”
His tactics were random, a hodgepodge of mess,
But luck was his scapegoat, to cover the stress.
When players would falter, he’d shake his head,
“Bad luck again,” he’d mutter, filled with dread.
The fans grew impatient, their patience wore thin,
But Limberick swore, “It’s the luck we’re in!”
A manager’s legacy, though, never in tact—
Blamed always on luck, but the truth he lacked.
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