When we were losing one-nil,
I thought our Cause was lost.
The trapdoor was wide open,
We seemed doomed to the Drop.
When we were trailing one-nil,
I heard a wise man say:
“My son, you know you really ought
To have a little Faith.
The match lasts ninety minutes,
The game ain’t over yet,
There’s loads of time for us to put
That ball into their net.”
The words that wise man spoke were true,
As true as true can be.
But we had gone one goal down,
No use to talk to me.
When we had made it one-one,
(A goal off Richie’s head),
I thought: ”Let’s settle for the point,
Now we’re back from the dead.”
Once more when scores were level,
I heard that wise man say:
“I told you so, perhaps now you
Can see of hope some ray.”
With three and ninety minutes gone,
Up stepped a lad named Gray –
A rocket fired in off the post,
That we’ll recall for aye.
Few seconds left now on the clock,
The wise man sat and beamed.
He looked just like the fabled cat
That gobbled up the cream.
And then the full-time whistle blew,
We headed towards home.
‘Twas raining hard, but we were warmed
By Vict’ry’s afterglow.
I munched my full-time Mars Bar,
And boy, did it taste sweet!
For WE’d been losing one-nil,
But two-one THEY got beat!
Denys E. W.Jones