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And so, let the blame game commence.
For England, there’s no present tense.
The Germans outfought them,
Outran them, outthought them
But somebody must be to blame
Why England’s performance was tame.
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Will they blame it on Signor Capello?
They thought that he was the right fellow.
He was strict, he was strong
But it all went so wrong.
You have to be some sort of loony
Not to get anything out of Rooney.
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Will they blame the o’erlong English season?
Maybe that was the underlying reason?
They were jaded and tired,
Far from fresh, uninspired,
It’s not easy when tiredness comes creeping
And all you can think of is sleeping.
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Perhaps it’s the senior players’ fault?
Far too many were not worth their salt.
All the countless stray passes!
Should they take shooting classes?
Their crossing was the work of the devil –
They’re not skilful enough at this level.
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Will they save their most scornful derision
For that bad refereeing decision?
If the ‘goal’ was allowed,
Would the lions have roared proud
And gone on to dominate the game?
So perhaps, ‘twas the ref was to blame?
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Will they blame all the media hype,
English journos reverting to type?
Build them up, way too high
Watch them fall from the sky
And then slate the whole lot from a height,
Pouring scorn with a gleeful delight.
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The Mexicans were well and truly beating them
Till Tevez scored, a country mile offside.
The big screen showed the unflagged goal was cheating them –
The rule of law was not to be applied.
Towards the men in black they ran, entreating them
To get this bad decision rectified.
Appalled at how the linesman was mistreating them,
The protestations were undignified.
Refusal though was all that they found greeting them,
Their pleas for reparation were denied.
And for an hour, with rank injustice eating them,
Composure fled and further progress died.