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Standing proud on the pitch singing God Save the Queen,
We’ll be on our game today against this unfacied team.
I make a run to the back and hear the crowd roar,
Swamped by my teammates, how my wages will soar.
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I am a World Cup manager,
Here to represent the team in this foreign nation.
I pick the team, and create winning tactics,
But I mostly pray about my fragile formation.
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I’ve taken us there, and my boys done me proud,
We gotta get into them and silence the crowd.
The game is tight and a win is a must,
For me this is it, Knighthood or bust.
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I am a World Cup referee,
Here to represent the laws in this foreign land.
I’ll be badgered and baited, despised and feted,
But it’s easy for them, all safe in the stand.
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I have my new whistle and cards yellow and red,
This is my World Cup too, or so I have read.
To be there at the finals, the last heads or tails,
That’ll be my reward for a lifetimes travails.
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We fill the stadium with our passion and zeal,
Barracking the ref and hoping for a repeal.
We should have got through with the greatest of ease,
Instead it’s a tie and the dreaded penalties.
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I am a World Cup commentator,
Representing my station and broadcasting to the masses.
Inflection and metaphor are the tools of my trade,
The last month has been spent in elocution classes.
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I paint pictures with words enhancing the match,
But I must stay neutral and try to detach.
Oh it would be heavenly, I’d be rolling in clover,
To have been the one who stated “they think it’s all over”.
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I am a World Cup widow,
I loathe all that the blasted tournament represents.
Disrupted viewing schedules and jingoistic fervour,
I seek entertainment in less tribal events.
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I’ve lost my partner, my father and even the dog,
He too has been enveloped in this footballing fog.
I seek solace in the fact it will be over soon,
Then four years of peace, my own little cocoon.
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My name has been made and my victories are old,
But the sponsor’s money sure keeps out the cold.
Old teammates are forgotten and deal with strife,
Whilst I have my goal, my meal ticket for life.
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Five World Cups down and the formula is set,
As I lambast the manager from my little parapet.
The Germans are efficient and the Italians all dive,
My stereotypes are fixed, trademarked 1965.
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“For the good of the country and for African pride”.
Excuse me Sir, we’re being taken for a ride.
Sure you’ll spend your Dollars, your Pounds and your Yen,
Will I see a penny? Or is it all for the Chair men?
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Remember we’re here for the good of the sport,
It’s all written down in our marketing report.
What we spend on this tournament will return tenfold,
Our advert in the final? Worth its weight in gold.
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I am the World Cup ball.
A billion eyes on me and I couldn’t really care,
New, improved, the pinnacle of technology,
I’m the best there’s ever been, next to me you’re all square.
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Without me there’s no goals, no saves and no game,
Mr cameraman be sure to catch my manufacturers name.
The players may complain I’m too light or too swervy,
But I know I’m gorgeous, so smooth and so curvy.
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I try to bring joy, and allow the world to unite,
But as I get older I see how you fight.
The politics and corruption are a contagious syndrome,
Remember why we’re all here, or I’ll take my ball and go home.