Hope is stood wearing a losing shirt
A goal down with seconds to go
Yer heart’s almost broke, yer prides blimmin hurt
And as for that ref, why don’t he just end this and blow?
As a small neon sign, shines down the touch line
Flashing, three extra minutes to play
A tannoy confirms what everyone’s heard
There’s a chance that today is your day.
Yer keeper is camped on the halfway line
You’ve ten blokes in all out attack
Yer keep lumping in longballs to prolong the fight
Which the other mob keep lumping back.
Then a last ditch attempt at salvation
Is pumped in to the eighteen yard box
It rebounds off a post, in frustration
You start cursing like you’ve lost the plot.
The ball lazily rolls off a defender
Toward sanity’s sacred white line
As one of the boys punts it to the net
This strange feeling wafts over ones mind.
Though deep down inside you were certain
That today was your epoch of days
Just mere minutes ago it seemed curtains
That the tie (sic) or a point could be saved!