Thursday, October 25, 2007

Lest we forget

Crouched behind chairs, between fingers we snuck
Fleeting glimpses, afraid we would run out of luck.
The header went down in our footballing lore,
Seventy nine minutes to sit on that score.
And Gascoigne and Lineker had chance after chance,
Leading our back four a right royal dance.
Penned in on all sides, with the traffic one way,
We scarcely believed it would turn out our day.
The slow-ticking clock, so unwilling to move
Never travelled so slowly, as stuck in that groove.
And Packie blocked shots with his legs, head and chest
And we sighed with relief, though Jack wasn’t impressed.
“You’re playing too deep!” he roared at his keeper,
“No wonder you’re busy – you should be our sweeper!”
While we, on our knees and peering ‘round cushions
Had no time to ponder our game with the Russians.
Bombarded, split open and totally drained,
Emotions distilled, till but pure joy remained.

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