Often disguised in this blog as “Roberto” I have painted another figure in his honour

The Saga of the Wargamer Rob

Poor Rob, no longer all bright eyed,
At the tabletop, he’d often preside.
His die rolls were vile,
He’d just terribly rile
The foes he was trying to snide.

His armies, all painted with care,
He’d deploy with a haphazard glare.
“A flank attack!” he’d yell,
Then his forces all fell,
Leaving his heroes quite unaware.

He’d forget all the rules of the fight,
Misread every movement in sight.
“Those tanks move too slow!”
His opponent would show
The chapter he’d studied all night.

His opponent, a slim, guru like chap,
Would spring every well-thought-out trap.
Rob would moan and he’d sigh,
As his regiments did die,
Then reach for a chip or a snap.

So he’d lose every battle, alas,
With less skill than a worm on the grass.
But Rob didn’t mind,
Left the war far behind,
And enjoyed the cold beer in his glass.