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I'm not the manager because I'm always right, but I'm always right because I'm the manager.

quote by Gene Mauch
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Thespis: Act I

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

GODS

Jupiter, Aged Diety
Apollo, Aged Diety
Mars, Aged Diety
Diana, Aged Diety
Mercury

THESPIANS

Thespis
Sillimon
TimidonTipseion
Preposteros
Stupidas
Sparkeio n
Nicemis
Pretteia
Daphne
Cymon

ACT I - Ruined Temple on the Summit of Mount Olympus

[Scene--The ruins of the The Temple of the Gods, on summit of
Mount Olympus. Picturesque shattered columns, overgrown with
ivy, etc. R. and L. with entrances to temple (ruined) R. Fallen
columns on the stage. Three broken pillars 2 R.E. At the back of
stage is the approach from the summit of the mountain. This
should be "practicable" to enable large numbers of people to
ascend and descend. In the distance are the summits of adjacent
mountains. At first all this is concealed by a thick fog, which
clears presently. Enter (through fog) Chorus of Stars coming off
duty as fatigued with their night's work]

CHO. Through the night, the constellations,
Have given light from various stations.
When midnight gloom falls on all nations,
We will resume our occupations.

SOLO. Our light, it's true, is not worth mention;
What can we do to gain attention.
When night and noon with vulgar glaring
A great big moon is always flaring.

[During chorus, enter Diana, an elderly goddess. She is carefully
wrapped up in cloaks, shawls, etc. A hood is over her head, a
respirator in her mouth, and galoshes on her feet. During the

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Maori's Wool

The Maoris are a mighty race -- the finest ever known;
Before the missionaries came they worshipped wood and stone;
They went to war and fought like fiends, and when the war was done
They pacified their conquered foes by eating every one.
But now-a-days about the pahs in idleness they lurk,
Prepared to smoke or drink or talk -- or anything but work.
The richest tribe in all the North in sheep and horse and cow,
Were those who led their simple lives at Rooti-iti-au.

'Twas down to town at Wellington a noble Maori came,
A Rangatira of the best, Rerenga was his name --
(The word Rerenga means a "snag" -- but until he was gone
This didn't strike the folk he met -- it struck them later on).
He stalked into the Bank they call the "Great Financial Hell",
And told the Chief Financial Fiend the tribe had wool to sell.
The Bold Bank Manager looked grave -- the price of wool was high.
He said, "We'll lend you what you need -- we're not disposed to buy.

"You ship the wool to England, Chief! -- You'll find it's good advice,
And meanwhile you can draw from us the local market price."
The Chief he thanked them courteously and said he wished to state
In all the Rooti-iti tribe his mana would be freat,
But still the tribe were simple folk, and did not understand
This strange finance that gave them cash without the wool in hand.
So off he started home again, with trouble on his brow,
To lay the case before the tribe at Rooti-iti-au.

They held a great korero in the Rooti-iti clan,
With speeches lasting half a day from every leading man.
They called themselves poetic names -- "lost children in a wood";
They said the Great Bank Manager was Kapai -- extra good!
And so they sent Rerenga down, full-powered and well-equipped,
To draw as much as he could get, and let the wool be shipped;
And wedged into a "Cargo Tank", full up from stern to bow,
A mighty clip of wool went Home from Rooti-iti-au.

It was the Bold Bank Manager who drew a heavy cheque;
Rerenga cashed it thoughtfully, then clasped him round the neck;
A hug from him was not at all a thing you'd call a lark --
You see he lived on mutton-birds and dried remains of shark --
But still it showed his gratitude; and, as he pouched the pelf,
"I'll haka for you, sir," he said, "in honour of yourself!"
The haka is a striking dance -- the sort they don't allow
In any place more civilized than Rooti-iti-au.

He "haka'd" most effectively -- then, with an airy grace,
Rubbed noses with the Manager, and vanished into space.
But when the wool return came back, ah me, what sighs and groans!
For every bale of Maori wool was loaded up with stones!
Yes -- thumping great New Zealand rocks among the wool they found;

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Journey of an Assistant Manager: The past and the future

Its a lovely morning
the grasses wet with the morning rain
I am standing, here at the club grounds
watching, as my players train...
I am the Assistant Manager of Winslow Town F.C.

We are preparing for tomorrow's game
discussing about the tactics, set-pieces and all
At this moment, I couldn't help but recall memories
of how I've fared in my life and reached here after all...

'Sports' was the thing for me always
I regretted for the player in me, that I never found
Registering myself for the Sports Management course
I knew that I had stepped into the world, that I always loved!

A famous Swedish manager, I dont know what struck him
He joined an Indian club to steer it out of trouble
He was in need of a translator, I applied for it fast
and we both helped our club, for its first ever 'double'
We won the League and the National Cup that year!

During these two years that I stayed there
I learnt quickly, all the tricks-n-trades of the game
Tough I wasa a mere translator, soon I became his friend
and he became my mentor, taught me everything 'bout the game...

The third year, he started getting offers from England
and he packed his bags, asked me to come along
I would have been the foolest had I refused him
Saying yes, I started dreaming where my career was going to land!

And so, we both came to England, that very year
to this wonderful place, this Winslow Town Football Club!
promoted as a Youth Coach, thus begun my real career
and so began my hottest pursuit
to become the 'World's Best Manager of the Year'...

And today, after two more years...

Its a lovely morning
the grasses wet with the morning rain
I am standing, here at the club grounds
watching, as my players train...

From a simple student to a translator
to a youth coach at England, to being the Assistant Manager
Life's taken me places, that I am sure
I have definitely set my eyes someday,
on becoming the 'World's Best Manager of the Year'...

poem by Soumya Dash
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Re: Vacant Manager’s Position

22nd October 2009

The Chairman
Mr. Steve Gibson
Middlesbrough F.C.
Riverside Stadium
Middlesbrough TS3 6RS

Re: Vacant Manager’s Position

Dear Mr. Gibson
I would like to apply for Manager’s position in your club,
I’m not a football celebrity but that should be no reason for a snub.
I’m never been a manager at any level, not even the pub,
I know nothing about football, some pundits and fans
Would argue, I will be in good company and should be the man.

Gorden Strachan may be the favourite for Boro’s hot-seat
But the signing is not complete,
In 2009, the year of belt tightening, to be discreet,
I’ll work for a quarter of Southagte’s wage.
Honest I’m not saying it to rattle your cage!

Wasted money on expansive contracts, I can save
By hiring overseas interrogator
Used by MI5 and C.I.A as translator,
Although some times they us questionable methods
They have proved to be excellent mediator.

I’m used to pain and working under pressure,
I’ve been married twice and have six children
My older children still call me the thresher.

My appointment as manager
Would Win! Win! Win! Win! Win!
For all,

I hope you’ll agree that I’m the best candidate.
‘Or even quite a catch! ’ ha, ha, ha.
Yours Sincerely

Khadim Hussain

poem by Khadim Hussain
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Alex Ferguson is the best manager I've ever had at this level. Well, he's the only manager I've actually had at this level. But he's the best manager I've ever had.

quote by David Beckham
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Surprise in Japan - revelation in an interview

travel consultant interivew
the manager talks about
karma

lourism agency interview
the manager talks about
horrendous things japan did

It was a real surprise this manager of a famous travel agency in Japan talked about Japan's atrocities in the war when interviewing me for aj ob. In a tone of anger, he talked about what goes around comes around and that Japan too would be in for bad times when the time comes.

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Helping

He returned an hour too late,
This was with the manager;
He returned so late to agitate,
But the manager was sloppier.

To help him we do not help,
The help from the manager was great
As the fellow began to yelp,
These men discovered how to compensate.

Helping is the winning, like sport,
That this aid is greater than an escort;
We help only in times of trouble
For they need our dangers governable.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Birth Of Jesus (Bible Poems For Children)

A decree went out from Caesar of Rome,
All the people, return to your home.
Joseph a carpenter, Mary his wife,
She was to give birth, soon her plight.

Everyone to be taxed, was key,
All must return to their city.
The angel Gabriel, in his own say,
Told Mary, The son of God is on his way.

Jesus, was to be his name,
He will receive eternal fame.
Arriving in Bethelhem, full the town,
No place for Mary to lie down.

To the stables, she went to pray,
Washing all her doubts away.
They were in the fields, nearby,
Shepherds looked to the skies.

An angel came, to them at night,
Go to Bethelhem, see his might.
The son of God, in a manager lay,
He will wash your sins away.

The shepherds were first, to see him
there,
Lying in a manager without a care.
A beautiful baby in a manager lay,
The son of God was born that day.

poem by Heather Burns
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The Risen One (Bible Poems for Children)

A decree went out from Caesar of Rome,
All the people, return to your home.

Joseph a carpenter, Mary his wife,
She was to give birth, soon her plight.

Everyone to be taxed, was key,
All must return to their city.

The angel Gabriel, in his own say,
Told Mary, The son of God is on his way.

Jesus, was to be his name,
He will receive eternal fame.

Arriving in Bethelhem, full the town,
No place for Mary to lie down.

To the stables, she went to pray,
Washing all her doubts away.

They were in the fields, nearby,
Shepherds looked to the skies.

An angel came, to them at night,
Go to Bethelhem, see his might.

The son of God, in a manager lay,
He will wash your sins away.

The shepherds were first, to see him
there,
Lying in a manager without a care.

A beautiful baby in a manager lay,
The son of God was born that day.

poem by Heather Burns
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Ruth

All is well—in a prison—to-night, and the warders are crying ‘All’s Well!’
I must speak, for the sake of my heart—if it’s but to the walls of my cell.
For what does it matter to me if to-morrow I go where I will?
I’m as free as I ever shall be—there is naught in my life to fulfil.
I am free! I am haunted no more by the question that tortured my brain:
‘Are you sane of a people gone mad? or mad in a world that is sane?’
I have had time to rest—and to pray—and my reason no longer is vext
By the spirit that hangs you one day, and would hail you as martyr the next.

Are the fields of my fancy less fair through a window that’s narrowed and barred?
Are the morning stars dimmed by the glare of the gas-light that flares in the yard?
No! And what does it matter to me if to-morrow I sail from the land?
I am free, as I never was free! I exult in my loneliness grand!

Be a saint and a saviour of men—be a Christ, and they’ll slander and rail!
Only Crime’s understood in the world, and a man is respected—in gaol.
But I find in my raving a balm—in the worst that has come to the worst—
Let me think of it all—I grow calm—let me think it all out from the first.

Beyond the horizon of Self do the walls of my prison retreat,
And I stand in a gap of the hills with the scene of my life at my feet;
The range to the west, and the Peak, and the marsh where the dark ridges end,
And the spurs running down to the Creek, and the she-oaks that sigh in the bend.
The hints of the river below; and, away on the azure and green,
The old goldfield of Specimen Flat, and the township—a blotch on the scene;
The store, the hotels, and the bank—and the gaol and the people who come
With the weatherboard box and the tank—the Australian idea of home:

The scribe—spirit-broken; the ‘wreck,’ in his might-have-been or shame;
The townsman ‘respected’ or worthy; the workman respectful and tame;
The boss of the pub with his fine sense of honour, grown moral and stout,
Like the spielers who came with the ‘line,’ on the cheques that were made farther out.

The clever young churchman, despised by the swaggering, popular man;
The doctor with hands clasped behind, and bowed head, as if under a ban;
The one man with the brains—with the power to lead, unsuspected and dumb,
Whom Fate sets apart for the Hour—the man for the hour that might come.

The old local liar whose story was ancient when Egypt was young,
And the gossip who hangs on the fence and poisons God’s world with her tongue;
The haggard bush mother who’d nag, though a husband or child be divine,
And who takes a fierce joy in a rag of the clothes on the newcomer’s line.

And a lad with a cloud on his heart who was lost in a world vague and dim—
No one dreamed as he drifted apart that ’twas genius the matter with him;
Who was doomed, in that ignorant hole, to its spiritless level to sink,
Till the iron had entered his soul, and his brain found a refuge in drink.

Perhaps I was bitter because of the tongues of disgrace in the town—
Of a boy-nature misunderstood and its nobler ambitions sneered

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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No Moss?

A frog he goes to the bank
His name is Kermit Jagger
The teller at the bank
Her name is Miss Patricia Whack
She welcomes him, that’s a fact
Kermit says “I would like a loan
I need a holiday to get away
From all those tadpoles
In the pond back home, that way”.
Kermit says “it should be OK,
my dad Mick he knows the manager
who thinks he rocks, he’s swell.”
The teller says, tell me
Do you have your ID?
Kermit produces from his pocket
A small porcelain figure of
A pink elephant, most charming.
Perfect in its shape and making
Patricia she is most confused
And finds the manager
In case she may have misconstrued.
And asks “Do you know
Kermit Jagger’s Dad, Mick?
And what on earth is this! ”
As she holds the elephant
For the mangers benefit.
And the manager says to her
“It’s a Nick Knack, Patty Whack.
Give the frog a loan.
His old man’s a rolling stone.”

poem by David Taylor
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Soccer Rollback

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The only thing I believe is this: A player does not have to like a manager and he does not have to respect a manager. All he has to do is obey the rules.

quote by Sparky Anderson
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Don't be a time manager, be a priority manager. Cut your major goals into bite-sized pieces. Each small priority or requirement on the way to ultimate goal become a mini goal in itself.

quote by Denis Waitley
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In the same way that I had to follow an Italian manager here, I can imagine that it was not easy for an Italian manager to follow me at Porto.

quote by Jose Mourinho
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I was through as a manager. I did become involved late in the 1968 campaign at the national scene at the last minute. But I was through as a manager, and I've stayed through, incidentally.

quote by Lew Wasserman
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You can't always wait for the guys at the top. Every manager at every level in the organization has an opportunity, big or small, to do something. Every manager's got some sphere of autonomy. Don't pass the buck up the line.

quote by Bob Anderson
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The manager sits down with me; I sit down with the board. We assess the success of the year. The manager assesses whose coming through the academy system. His job is to look at what is happening in European and world football.

quote by David Gill
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It's nice to come into a town and be referred to as the manager of the Cleveland Indians instead of as the first black manager.

quote by Frank Robinson
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For a manager to be perceived as a positive manager, they need a four to one positive to negative contact ratio.

quote by Ken Blanchard
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