Football Poets

Hydration break please.

Oh water, water, water
How desperate we are
For a refreshing drop
Of H20 revival
At this latest
World Cup festival
Stop the game immediately
Amid this oasis
Of American, Mexican
And Canada dry
Yes folks,
It’s the hydration break
Only in America
Thirsting for new fangled
Innovation and gimmickry
Water punctuating every
VAR debate, water
Even when it’s just
Surplus to requirements
Madness! What a Whitehall farce
Does anybody fancy a bottle
Of sparkling mineral from
The Highlands of Scotland
Or just tap water?
The choice is yours
So here we are mulling over
The early morning absurdities
of England playing
Well after the midnight hour
While most of us are
Snoozing the night away
In the land of slumber
Fast asleep
Barely able to keep
Our eyes open
But not cocoa
Or Horlicks
Simply determined
To keep awake
No shut eye tonight
Matchsticks, waiter or waitress
Red Bulls all around
For England and Mexico
Make sure the owls
Who live in suburbia
Are well and truly dormant
Several gallons of water
For the extended family
And don’t forget the kids
So that the children
Who Tuchel told us
Should be forced to watch
To the detriment of their
Vital education
Can be well stocked
With gallons of water
Those Mexican bandits
Are used to altitudes
And glorious heat
No sweat, very little exertion
And then the mind reels back
to 40 years ago and
Precisely 60 years ago
When Diego danced and
Then discovered another bossa nova
A flourish of fandangos
Maradona punched above his weight
A cheat, rebel,
Gasping for Evian
The naughtiest of all subversives
Before just disappearing into
A white sheet of England defenders
Peter Reid, Terry Fenwick and Terry Butcher
What audacious genius
From that Argentine prince of
Purple prose from
Wondrous dribbling feet
Insolence joining forces
With outrageous impertinence
No water required then
Argentina unstoppable
World Cup minstrels
Football masquerading as
Ballet
But we’d rather have
A Lucozade or
Possibly a Dr Pepper
Just to maintain our
Energy levels
You have to wonder
Did Nobby, Bobby, Geoff,
Roger, Bobby and Jack Charlton
Ever need the services
Of silver salvers of water
Just to mop fevered brows?
Certainly not
And here’s the omen for
Tomorrow morning
Bobby struck a thunderbolt
At Wembley in 1966
And Mexico were beaten
Hands down
Not even a cup or jug of
Water, water, water
For parched tongues
You never know, though
It could happen
Tomorrow morning at the Azteca

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