Football Poets

World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Two

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Germany 1 Argentina 1

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Quite disgraceful scenes, they said,
With po-faced horror on their breath.
Look how Rodriguez lost the head
Just seconds after sudden death.
As if to emphasise the shame
That frightened schoolboys should not see,
(For it might draw the junior game
Into the mire of thuggery)
They highlighted the Argentine
Just like the kid with Ready Brek
And, bathed in this unnatural sheen,
They tracked his short but devious trek.
Slow-motion now, they gasped in shock
As he inflicted mortal pain,
And, open-mouthed, as we took stock,
They played it back. Again. Again.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Five times he launched his vile attack
Armed with a fiery brandished fist,
Fuelled by thoughts insane and black
And penalties so dearly missed.
Quite disgraceful scenes, they said,
And FIFA should show no remorse
In smiting him about the head,
Metaphorically, of course.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 And we, at home, reviewed the melée,
Shaking heads and tutting gently,
Pointing loudly at the telly
To which we had been glued intently.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Italy 3 Ukraine 0

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 A long, long time ago
I can still remember when
The football used to make me wail.
And as I shouted exhortations
At the more less-fancied nations,
I’d be dreaming of a fairy tale.
But Canavaro made me shiver
With every tackle he’d deliver,
Lippi standing on the sideline,
Just inside the World Cup guideline.
And in this crazy German book,
Eastern Europe came unstuck,
Italians bathed in pools of luck
The day the Ukraine died

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 And we were singing
Bye bye Miss Ukrainian Pie,
Drove poor Shevvy for a bevvy
But the Levee was dry,
And good old boys drank Venezia dry
Singing “This’ll be the day I get high,
This’ll be the day I get high.”

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Helter skelter, Zambrotta belter,
Shovkovski ducked and dived for shelter,
Italy were in the lead.
Totti strived, Gattuso strained,
Oleg Gusev looked quite drained,
As independents did concede.
And as King Paolo looked on down
Luca Toni stole his crown,
Hailed and worshipped by the jury
Of thirty thousand joyed Azzurri.
And Buffon, who I admire most,
Watched Gusin steam in like a ghost
And, saving, crashed into the post,
The day the Ukraine died.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 And we were singing
Bye bye Miss Ukrainian Pie,
Drove poor Shevvy for a bevvy
But the Levee was dry,
And good old boys drank Venezia dry
Singing “This’ll be the day I get high,
This’ll be the day I get high.”

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Will Blokhin bear the mental scar
Of looping headers off the bar,
And Zambrotta’s goal line save?
Will he regard Shevchenko’s free
With tantalising agony
And carry Toni’s winner to the grave?
For losing’s now the greatest crime –
Will he be there in four years time?
Dortmund nightmare never ending,
Must improve all-round defending.
Kalinichenko stooped in tears,
Tymoschuk rolled back the years,
But all they heard were Totti’s cheers
The day the Ukraine died.

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 And we were singing
Bye bye Miss Ukrainian Pie,
Drove poor Shevvy for a bevvy
But the Levee was dry,
And good old boys drank Venezia dry
Singing “This’ll be the day I get high,
This’ll be the day I get high.”

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