Little consolation

It’s of little consolation
that they say that we were plucky;
that, alas, on this occasion,
we were just a tad unlucky.
At the moment we’re deflated
at our quick elimination
and the spirit demonstrated
is of little consolation.


It’s of little consolation
that the plaudits keep on flying
for our steeled determination
and the way we kept on trying.
For they took us to the cleaners
with a joyous affirmation
and the gulf in class between us
is of little consolation.


It’s of little consolation
that they say that Spain are giants.
They fulfilled their reputation
and brushed off our grim defiance.
They’ve been eulogised and feted
as the greatest football nation
but (it can’t be overstated)
that’s of little consolation.

It’s of little consolation
that the scoreline wasn’t greater;
that the goal-count calculation
didn’t need a calculator.
Though we narrowly averted
a complete humiliation,
their chances not converted
are of little consolation.


It’s of little consolation
that our fans could not stop singing
in the fierce precipitation
that left each supporter wringing.
Though downhearted and frustrated,
they maintained our reputation
but the humour generated
is of little consolation.


It’s of little consolation
that there’s hope on the horizon;
that the coming generation
means our stock should soon be risin’.
For we’re caught up in the story
of last night’s sad consternation
and the hope of future glory
is of little consolation.