1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Close quarters around the radio,
we listened in church-silence
to the troughs and peaks
of the commentator’s voice;
and the sudden surges of noise
that hinted at distant glory.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 One step away from Wembley:
crammed, ever tighter,
around a kitchen table,
cradling cups of calming tea
as security blankets against defeat.
(And, for once, ignoring the temptation
to take the mick out of Gary’s twitch
or Steve’s B.O.).

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Goal!
The fever-filled cries
from the radio
sent ill-chills down our spines
and the mirage of Wembley
began to fade into the steam
off our teas- cruelly snatched-
like a stolen sweetheart;
all that early possession…
it only counts if you score.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 The final whistle-
we’d lived through every kick and tackle;
it was us walking, disconsolate,
from the kitchen-table-pitch,
muddied and bloodied,
united in defeat,
indolent with despair;
all out of cliches.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Next season lads, someone piped up….
there’s always next season.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/semi-final/