Here is the A plan: we play four-four-two,
with half-backs cutting in from either wing.
Two centre backs routinely clearing
to midfield men who play the forwards through.
Here is the main man: the ref’s lips will blow
when wayward sinners wildly lunge, and bring
(unless requested for the quickly-taken sting)
the wall to ten paces reluctantly and slow.
This is the B plan: extra time will glean
a golden goal, like so many we could name,
from other days when foreign songs were sung.
The match is on a knife edge, and among
slow deep defenders, stealthy and unseen,
some silver-booted striker steals the game.