The very best of DT’s Robbie Keane poetry slam

From the seas of the north to Gibralter,
We first heard of this lad versus Malta.
Fourth country cap, clad in Irish green,
Oi! This is Robbie Keane.

Bussing his way through the Prem,
He played through his knocks and phlegm.
Tumbles he does, it keeps his legs lean,
Oi! This is Robbie Keane.

He then flies his way to the States,
Every year, him and the Becks become mates.
Woe be this lad, unknown Yankee media screens,
Oi! This is Robbie Keane.

Another championship won, the season is done,
The trophy a higher grade than epoxy.
This lad makes guns with his fingers, points them at I,
“A replica ring ought to go on the finger of Sir Boxey!”

-- Grant Boxey

There once was a man who wore Green,
Who could score like ne’er before seen.
From a wee Wolves pup,
to two MLS Cups,
Stand Up: There’s One Robbie Keane!

-- Christopher J. Herrera

Here I shall stand,
As unidentified fan,
Unknown to most of thee

To Reuters I beg,
And I don't mean to neg
Make me a happy captionee

-- Alexander Parkinson

Robbie Keane married, a Miss Ireland hottie; he also plays sports.

-- William Newsom

All my life it's been my dream, to play for "insert name of team". I've been a Spur, scored in Milan, but have always been an LA fan. In between I was a Red, but better that remains unsaid. For during that spell i was a flop, shanking shots into the kop.

-- Andrew Pasco

so mean, so lean
what a scoring machine
i’d rather lick him
than a jelly bean.

-- Rachel Perez-Pineda

Roses Are Red
My Name Is Dave
This Poem Makes No Sense
Robbie Keane.

-- Andreas Lenski