Football Poets

Another heartbreak

We have been this way before
Along the avenidas and avenues
Of our triumphant lives
But this is the same tired
Old script
Well scripted
The same balance sheets
The same charge sheets
Percentages
Narrow margins
Accusations and
Recriminations
Heartbreak city
It could have
Should have
So close
And yet so far
The pitiful excuses
That draining heat
The wrong type of grass
Defective tactics,
Christmas tree formations
When the Easter parade
Somehow went missing
Last night it all unravelled
Once again
Traumatically,
Humiliatingly,
Just when the omens
Were on our side
England, sitting so deep
That your dear uncle
Would have been forgiven
For dropping off
In his comfortable armchair
And snoring contentedly
Firstly Flash Gordon
Anthony blew us away
With that false hope
Another delusional hour
For the first half
At least
Argentina resorted
To 1966 thuggery
And niggly petulance
One childish foul
After foul
Shades of the dearly departed
Rattin throwing toys out of
His pram
And protesting his innocence
But then the watered down
Violence and ill intent
Simmered down
And England smelt Argentinian blood
Never mind the volatile history
Of the Falklands War
The sinking of the Belgrano
Mrs Thatcher driving tanks
Through her defence
This was mean, nasty
At times
Vindictive with a
Capital V
England, engaging,
Challenging those early
Days of 1980s bullishness
And belligerence
Kane, Bellingham, Gordon,
Anderson forcing the issue
Luring, beckoning the land
Of tangos and pampas
Into their honey trap
Come on if you think
You’re hard enough
Then Morgan Rogers
Became Buck for 90 minutes
Long diagonal overload
Sharply driven cross
For Gordon to flash home
The vital opener
But then with 20 minutes
Ticking away agonisingly
England commit kamikaze
Shooting themselves fatally
In the foot
Hiding back in
Unimaginable cowardice
Lost in a world
Of naivete and incompetence
Immediately after the hydration break
Messi, the magnificent veteran
Bursts into life
Argentina turn on the afterburners
World class is permanent
Not for nothing are Argentina
World Champions
Opening up England
Like a child’s Christmas Day present
Tearing apart the remnants
Of England’s now ramshackle defence
Reece James, still venturing forward
But now holding back a South American
Tide, John Stones, all Barnsley grit
Heart of gold, but now fading copper
Argentina rattle the post
Before Enzo Fernandez finds
Himself in splendid isolation
Outside the English six yard box
And a thunderclap rumbles across
England’s shattered nerves
Fernandez thunderbolt, the
Most unstoppable shot
Low into the net
Then England vanish in the murky
Mists, disappearing without trace
Going under the radar
Utterly invisible
Before Messi weaves his spiders web
Crossing perfectly
Martinez thudding the ball
Vehemently home, the winner
Heads Argentina win again
World Champions have
Far too much
In their armoury
England lose their bottle
Repeatedly over and over again
Repeat of Croatia in World Cup 2018
No more arguments anymore
Semi final tragedy
So it’s not Y Viva Espana
Una Paloma Blanca
In the World Cup Final
Those flamenco dancers
And castanets
Were never the
English style anyway
So it’s just a
Pointless quest for bronze
Against our cross Channel neighbours
No thankyou, who cares?
It’s 64 years of rejection,
Shuddering anti climax
Sir Geoff you can light up
Your satisfied cigar
And pour that soothing brandy
Your hat-trick record is safe
For another four years
At least

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