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A perfect night for football, free from rain,
they came to far-famed Kiev railway station
or flew there in their hordes by chartered plane,
thousands in a state of high elation,
to witness Italy and mighty Spain
battling to be top-dog football nation.
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Spain began with fired imagination
and, from the start, the shots began to rain
in on Buffon’s goal. Strange vacillation
gripped the proud Azzurri -it was plain
an early Spanish goal was in gestation.
Fabregas to Silva – goal for Spain!
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Still Italy tried putting it to Spain,
tackling hard with grim determination
but the midfield nine were tugging at the rein.
All football skills were here in combination
and television replays showed quite plain
the Italians had no cause for protestation
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when Alba scored. Though gripped by devastation,
still the Italians took the game to Spain,
though now it was a hopeless assignation.
But it was clear that they could not restrain
the rampant Spanish, high on sheer elation.
Down to ten through injury, it was plain
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that it was now for pride that they were playin’.
But the Spanish swarmed again, an infestation
that swept like locusts ‘cross the wide terrain.
And so we watched with morbid fascination
as Torres, first, augmented Buffon’s pain
and Mata helped complete the mutilation.
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No-one could deny the correlation
between display and score. Some may complain
that Spain play sideways like a mad crustacean.
But not last night. The world saw Spain
carving forward with such domination
you might as well have tried to stop the rain.