I scour the earth for my eleven
from Timbuktu to Plymouth Devon.
Yashin, Schmeichel ,Banks?
I’m slowly going insane,
so I opt for big Pat Jennings,
the man from White Hart Lane.
I choose Puskas the Hungarian,
who in 1953,
destroyed complacent England
at the famous Wem-ber-lee.
This little chubby maestro, was a joy to see.
except to Englands’ players who lost the game 6-3.
I pick the Argie Maradonna, and his hand of God,
meaning there is no place for Blackburn’s Andy Todd.
No Mario Kempes, Zoff or Keano,
instead I go for Rivelino.
I need a player,cool and sure,
and the first I think of is Bobby Moore.
Mooro was a superstar,
and just nudges out Franz Beckanbaur.
Jim, Jimmy-Jimmy – Jimmy Johnstone makes my wing,
as the hordes at Celtic Park would sing.
Forty cigs a day, does not prolong your life,
but it didn’t slow down, Hollands Johann Cruyff.
Rated the greatest in many a poll,
Pele gets the nod over Spurs’ Frank Saul.
I take Di Stefano from Real Madrid,
so no Marvin Hinton or Brian Kidd.
Wee Hughie Gallagher from long ago,
is still a legend around Glasgow.
Before the Brazilians were bending kicks,
wee Hughie was up to all those tricks.
I leave the greatest player ’til last,
Georgie Best from East Belfast.
Destroyed his liver having fun,
and put many a defender on their bum.
Yes it Georgie,—–Georgie—-Georgie the Belfast boy,
so there is no place for Mickey Droy.
Now the critic’s will all have moans,
where’s Jairzinho and Vinny Jones.
Not a place for Michel Platini,
and how could you omit Terry Mancini?
No Tommy Finney or Sir Stan,
or Iain Dowie nor Arthur Mann.
Can’t fit in the Brazilian Gerson,
Paulo Rossi or Paul Merson.
Now I have to select a chief,
who in defeat won’t show no grief.
A coach with a smile this team will need,
so I have no choice but Peter Reid.
© John J O’Connor 10 Dec O2