Eleven summers have flown by
Since these events that I relate,
And thus its open to debate
If I can trust my inner eye.
Shels were blessed by circumstance.
Bold Shero’s wonder goal had put
The Redsmen back on equal foot
And given us a second chance.
So Pat’s and Shels locked horns again
Beneath the trophy standing proud,
Cheered on by almost frenzied crowd
That bit their lips and winced with pain.
The first half I cannot recall –
It’s carried off by rolling tide.
And both the goals for either side?
I cannot picture them at all.
And then, with but five minutes left,
A trip! A penalty for Pat’s,
Whose fans threw skywards scarves and hats
While we were left abject, bereft.
The players argued long and hard
With vehemence to no avail.
No hope of getting out of jail,
The door to glory locked and barred.
The kick! The save! We stood there dumb,
Unable to quite understand
The secret workings of God’s hand
And fearful of the things to come.
But as the comprehension dawned,
We leapt and yelled in wild delight.
Fresh hope rekindled, set alight –
For Pat’s, the hand of Fortune scorned.
But still we faced a corner kick.
Mark up! Mark up” went up the cry
As minutes, seconds trickled by,
The air now heavy, pungent, thick.
Then Goughy catches, throws it long
To Sparky running down the wing.
Oh listen to the Shels fans sing,
Now raucous in their urgent song.
Twenty, thirty yards he sprints,
Forty, fifty, speedily.
Glances up, is pleased to see
Bold Geogo, Shels’ goalscoring prince.
In comes the ball and Geogo slips
But still connects with lethal right
To send us into pure delight
With hallelujahs on our lips.