The die is cast.

The die is cast

From the island’s opposite ends

We’re just like long lost friends

We’ve both had our ups and our downs

Shared stories in copious rounds

The Lodge in March of eighty six,

Hennesseys goal, a teenage kick

Three years later, haunts like a ghost

Dave Barrys shot, came off the post

November two thousand and five

The greatest night ever alive

The Shed packed to the end of its tether

As we laughed and we cried all together

Some have our City infiltrated

Still these folks must be translated

Whatever the Sit-she-a-shun

Text message might be need to be done.

Our moment of glory converging

Can you see the pattern emerging?

We’ve won it first in eighty seven

Kieran Myers showed us heaven

Twelve years later in ninety nine

Hargies finish was so sublime

Another twelve have now since passed

The cup is ours, the die is cast.

This poem was submitted to the FAI for the League Cup Final Programme on Saturday next.

We've always had great relations with our northern friends, in fact we've even taken in a few strays over the years. Mind you we still haven't a clue what they're saying.

The picture above was taken in Derry in 2006 after the last game of the season at a time when Derry owned the trophy, here's hoping for green ribbons on Saturday night.

P.S. I've taken poetic licence in forgetting our 1996 victory in Dundalk.