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Given the day that was in it :
I watched Wimbledon
And looked for omens –
Would the Borg-like zen of Federer
Equate to the suave sophistication of France?
Would the Connors-like passion of Nadal
Be a forebear of fiery Italian woe?
My intuition said no.
And sticking with SW7, I didn’t expect
Any pointers from Plough Lane, nor AFC, nor MK
Couldn’t see any Crazy Gang capers, winning the day
I wondered pre-match :
Would a rubbery Ribery, be the boss o’ Grosso?
Or would Italy have the perfect buffer, in Buffon?
Or would we see more of that duffer, Barthez à couchons?
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And so to the match – who would snatch
Victory? So hard to call
And so it proves – an even game of football
Nothing between them
Zidane, cool as you like, opens the scoring
With a ‘Panenka’
Materazzi equalizes with a good ol’ fashioned bullet of a header
Then France lose …
Vieira and Henry
Both succumb to injury
Zidane is sent off – and quite rightly
With a head butt as unexpected as unsightly
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Pirlo : a pearler
Wiltord : willed it in
Materazzi : it mattered
Trezeguet : trés aghast!
Hits the crossbar – bounces down wrong side of the line
De Rossi : de right way!
Abidal : cool, struck it just fine
Del Piero : delivered
Sagnol : sanguine
Grosso : grasped the mettle, to ensure winners medal!
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And so the laurels of victory, go to the Italians
A valedictory Lawro, called it ‘poetic justice’ in summation
Citing Zizou’s moment of madness, as contributing
To the French downfall, with his astonishing aberration