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The howls of hatred rent the air,
And millions screamed it wasn’t fair,
And Terry Butcher spat in indignation.
And commentators’ voices rose
Until their shrill falsetto prose
Had roused the xenophobia of the nation.
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He ought to hang his head in shame,
That’s not the way we play the game.
The victor, yes, but not without dishonour.
And giving worldwide cheats the nod,
He joked about the Hand of God!
That’s not the way we do things, Maradonna.
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Can you remember Franny Lee
Who dived around quite cannily,
Regarded as the ultimate professional?
And Hughesie’s dive against Marseille
Was not considered real foul play,
Or worthy of an hour in confessional.
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And Michael Owen in ninety-eight,
Whose blatant dive while in full spate
Caused untold waves of Argentinan fury.
And four years on, he did the same!
Swan-dived, yes, to win the game,
Condemned by just the international jury.
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It seems perhaps, the British dive
Reflects the instinct to survive,
While foreign “simulation” is the basest.
At best this shows a blinkered view
Through glasses of a tinted hue,
At worst, it could be judged supremely racist.