a successful soccer honcho.
He played for the old Excelsior,
that club from the famous 'Rotjeknor'.
Later in Breda he coached NAC,
until they chanted from the pack:
Cor Pot fuck off
Cor Pot fuck off
Cor Pot, Cor Pot
Cor Pot fuck off.
Life in the stadium can be hard,
but he knew that from the start.
Although he was rather anguished,
not like Moyaal's uncle who languished.
Getting up in nearly bare skin
poking with a stick in the garbage bin.
"Is that after Hooft, Paul?"
"No, Bredero ... Moortje.
By the way, he's already back
to work as coach of another club."
"I thought you did not care about soccer?"
"I don't ... no sport at all.
I wanted to say 'by the way' again.
Do I say that often ... incidentally?"
