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If you read it in a comic, you’d dismiss it.
The plot, you’d rightly claim, lacks all conviction.
Football people to a man would diss it
as merely some improbable work of fiction.
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A proud new nation hosting this great tourney,
keen to show the world they can deliver.
A most important step along their journey,
desire to make the deadest neck-hair quiver.
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First game, burdened down with expectation,
the old war-hero brought in from the cold,
a decision that divides the anxious nation –
surely this Shevchenko’s far too old?
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A goal behind, the discontent is growing.
The Swedes have come and failed to read the script.
But lo! a mighty wind of change is blowing
and everybody’s heart is tightly gripped.
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Two headers swing the game in Ukraine’s favour
scored by the talismanic number seven.
the congregation kneels before the Saviour;
many feel they’ve died and gone to heaven.