The bugle now with stridence calls
The urgent watchword, “Carpe Diem!”
As Hunt and Heary clutch their balls
And stride into the Colisseum.
The fanfare to the heavens rings,
And mighty standards wave unfurled.
The crowd with fervent passion sings,
Proclaiming vict’ry to the world.
This crumbling, tired arena which
In olden times saw better days
Surrounds the green and luscious pitch
With fiery floodlights set ablaze.
Silhouetted ‘gainst the sky,
Upreaches Peter’s brooding spire,
Extolling pleading hymns on high
From this most irreligious choir.
A thousand voices all regale
The men emerging on the park,
All seeking that elusive Grail
On which they yearn to etch their mark.
The battle must again commence,
Although the war is nearly done,
As warriors lock horns, intense,
Until scarred combat has been won.
The victors will be cheered aloud,
And laurel wreaths placed on their brows.
The losers stride away unbowed,
With stern and unremitting vows.
Heroes all these gallant souls
Who strive to garner sweet success,
Each man intent upon his goals,
Yet conscious of defeat’s distress.
So blow, you referee of doom,
And let the fiery passions flame,
And let the drunken crowd consume
The silk-smooth nectar of the game.