377 – An Ode to TMS

Poem number 377
An Ode To TMS
The world is pretty rubbish
There is no denying that,
So console yourself with TMS
Whilst England are at bat.
It’s a haven from reality
A dose of gentle calm –
The world of TMS
Is an oasis, full of balm.
No darkness dwells in TMS
No evil or mistrust
The news is never mentioned
And the only things discussed
Are the cricket, cakes and pigeons
Sometimes cranes and buffets too,
Henry’s suits and Andrew’s stats
A DRS review
Geoffrey’s stick of rhubarb
Gales of laughter at a pun
Then Aggers with his podcast
When at last the day is done.


You can hide yourself in TMS,
Cocooned within its charm
Some would say that’s cowardly
But I say what’s the harm?
Is the child who keeps the light on
So the monster doesn’t feast
To be thought of as a lesser child
Than one who slays the beast?
If a day beside the wireless
Can restore a man’s good cheer
If a rainy morn’ with TMS
Can ease a mortal’s fear
Then it’s medicine, a tonic
And not cowardly at all
Which is why in these foreboding times
I scarcely miss a ball.
So here’s to TMS, I say
For giving us a break
For keeping us from monsters
Here’s to TMS, and cake.


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