It was a game of two halves
and we were crap in both of them,
blowing the froth off our pints
in long, dejected sighs.
If only we didn’t have a defence
as watertight as the Titanic;
or a striker
who couldn’t score in a brothel…
then we’d be one of those quality sides.
After rearranging beer mats
into 4-4-2 formations
(and then heatedly debating
the value of wingbacks)
we trudged home through virgin snow,
mulling whether the same chat
took place in bars from Barcelona to Milan…
(but then, they hadn’t just lost
at home to Crewe-
so the answer’s probably… no).