The Hairless and the Old Tortoise
For my athletic pal Robin at 60.
Basking in another world record, no less
The great Mo Farah was talking to the press
Amongst all the fawning and swooning and praise
A new hack at the back rose and met his gaze
“Robin Adams here, Mo,” from the Roedean Reporter
“If I raced you mate it would be a slaughter
You might outstay the plodders or even outsprint Usain
But trying to beat me would give you far more pain!”
Mo rose from his seat. Who was this bloody fool?
The implacable Farah lost his customary cool
“You’re sixty years old and a lanky streak
If we raced for an hour I’d beat you by a week”
But Adams was insistent. “Well if that’s the case
Let’s run for 10 grand a man in a straight 10K race.”
“You’re on,” exclaimed Mo “This is easy money
I’d beat you backward over hurdles and blindfold, Sonny!”
So the gauntlet was down and they met on the track
“Good luck, grandpa” said Mo “Don’t expect your money back”
They stripped down and swigged on their isotonic drinks
“That’s the last time you’ll be level with the Mobot, methinks”
And sure as his word and true to world class form
Little Mo thundered off like a one-man perfect storm
With Robin’s red pate getting redder, he struggled on behind
But far from getting demoralised, he didn’t seem to mind
Then suddenly with just the last straight to go
The honed Farah physique went on a ‘go slow’
On the final bend with a grimace and puzzled frown
The Mobot short circuited and simply lay down
After ten agonising minutes the cantering Adams hove into view
But Mo couldn’t even remember his name and there’s was nothing he could do
The world’s top long distance athlete was totally out of shape
And the bus pass toting tortoise soon happily breasted the tape
“How d’you do it?” cried Mo. “Well” said Rob “since you ask
I slipped some Mo-hipnol into your drinking flask
And before sailing past you to a wholly triumphant end
I kicked you up the arse going into the final bend”
There was no written contract, so it couldn’t be called a fix
But the moral of the tale is drinking and running clearly don’t mix
If Mo hadn’t taken that fateful swig, he surely would have lasted
As it was he got royally shafted by an OAP Robin bastard.