The Saturday Night Gang

It is yet another Saturday night
At the corner coffeeshop,
A few streets from my house.

All eyes glued to the stylo-mylo LCD TV
Broadcasting images of stick men
Chasing a round thing
On a field of green;
We are the Saturday Night Gang.

Over bottles of Tiger Beer and Carlsberg,
Mugs of Kopi-0 Kosong and Teh Peng,
Lazy twirls of cigarette smoke curl
With hopes, rising a-stir.

We are all punters on a flutter,
Clutching our betting slips nervously
And swigging our alcohol or caffeine
With wild abandon,
Eyeballs entranced by the shiny LCD TV.

Cheers and jeers go hand-in-hand,
Compliments and invective fly about;
The action in the LCD TV holds us allured.

90 minutes come and go,
Clinking bottles toasting triumph...
Or torn betting slips.
Big beaming smiles...
Or shredded hopes.
Which describes you,
The Saturday Night Gang?

The footy match ends,
And so, with many of our coffeeshop pipedreams.
Amidst abandoned bottles and littered butts,
Lie the carcasses of our valiant bets.

It is yet another Saturday night,
Where we nursed a small flickering hope
Of making a killing...
Except we ended up being killed by
The vagary of a leather ball.