Football Poets

The Magnificent Magyars

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The great Stanley Mathews summed it up like a beautiful day’s weather

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 “They are the best team I ever played against. They were the best ever.”

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Known as Aranycsapatin in Hungary, they played football with the lyre
The golden team to you and me, musicians amidst the pyre

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Led by Ferenc Puskas, marauding Real Madrid hero, the galloping Major
Record goalscorer of all time, never will he be a stranger

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Hidegkuti probing, making space in the hole
The first exponent of the deep lying centre forward role

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Zoltan Czibor with the accuracy of a wild west gunslinger
Wing wizardry, the legacy of an all time great left winger

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Then there was Boszik, graceful midfielder, a golden beacon and beam
A cultured playmaker, full of steam, the brains behind the team

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Grosics took on the mantle of a revolutionary new role
The archetypal second sweeper, the heartbeat and the soul

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Lorant the sweeper with flowing attacks brimming with power
An example so perfected by Kaiser Beckenbauer

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 We move onto the marauding right back, the steely Buzanszky
Express train, bulletlike, oh the young and free!

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 Lantos working simultaneously, a busy bee on the left
Sizzling pace, startling grace, leaving opposing teams bereft

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 Zakarias the defensive midfielder calmy policing his rounds
In today’s market he’d be worth at least eighteen million pounds

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 Budai on the right, always alright on the night
Tracking up and down, in and out, by golly he gave teams a fright

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 Kocsis nicknamed goldenhead for his aerial power
Indomitable Golden Boot winner, an irresolute tower

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 Fifty four world cup heralds the Olympic champions, all ready to slay
A long unbeaten run, they’ll blow all in their path away

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 A nine nil victory over South Korea, a West German massacre eight goals to three
The mighty Hungarians are in town, the travelling support are full of glee

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 The Magicians arrive on the back of a four-year unbeaten run
The outcome of the finals is still seen as a miracle by the Hun

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 Brazil and Uruguay like dirty rags on the scrapheap, tossed to a side
The march goes on and it seems that nothing will spoil the ride

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 But don’t understate German party poopers, proficient with the proverbial ‘boo’
Helmut Rahn knocks in a brace as Fritz Walters men triumph three two.

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 © Emdad Rahman