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Eating miserable dinners
After closely called nights
We’ll fete last gasp winners,
Curse dodgy off sides.
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Warmed by the glow of a victor
Skidding along on his knees
Who captured the spoils in that instant?
From the shattering jaws of defeat.
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Sparring in jest with a flag pole
Strutting like peacocks en masse
Imaginary cigars puffing out smoke
Some celebrations are crass.
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When our heart rates subside back to normal
We’ll look skywards for more toward the telly
Realise our celebrations, are bordering on formal,
Pale in comparison, to the sheer exultation…. of Marco Tardelli!
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