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They were nubile, young and hearty,
nervous virgins at the party,
paraded for the pleasure of the Pharoah.
They’d been carefully selected
to succumb as all expected
to Higuain and Messi and Aguero.
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They were patronised and petted
as the appetite was whetted.
We came to watch the Argentinian tango.
They’d be handy troves to plunder
and would speedily go under,
squashed flat like a Maracana mango.
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But instructions were encrypted
and things didn’t go as scripted –
the Bosnians, if anything, were keener.
They were organized and plucky
and perhaps a tad unlucky
not to share the points and spoils with Argentina.