World Cup Semis...!
When England kicked the ball to score,
England supporters wanted more;
It's a game of two halves, they said.
The players muttered, On me 'ead,
And that is where they beat the Swedes.
But it may be the contest needs
No space beyond the bottom line:
2-0. The net is made of twine,
And England put the ball in it.
Now World Cup Semifinal kit
Will grace the shops. How time has flown
Since that day Germany was shown
The door in 1966!
I'm happy as a pile of bricks.
It's really good that you're not sad.
Indeed, I'm happy that you're glad
that England won the match today,
although, dear John, I have to say...
Your final line seems strange to me;
that's one unusual simile!
I didn't know that bricks had moods.
Do they have fav'rite drinks and foods?
I've never thought of this before,
but from now on you can be sure
I'll think of bricks with more respect,
because bricks have an intellect.
So next time that I see a wall,
I'll think of how they love football.
I'll open a bottle of fizz tonight. Oh, wait a minute... I don't like football. What the hell? I'll open a bottle of fizz because... because it's Saturday. Yep, that's a good enough reason!
The sun is out and here to stay.
'It's coming home!' the people say.
England show no signs of an exit.
Just don't go mad and credit Brexit.
I had in mind the bricks you'll see
Arrayed in the Tate Gallery.
I'm not sure that they have a mood,
But their creator ate his food
Content, the day they went on show,
I'd bet, and to folks in the know -
The cognoscenti - art reveals
Its maker; that's how it appeals
To other folk, I'd like to say.
For instance, I am feeling gay
This instant, and my verse obliges.
Such is, in short, my football digest.
Meanwhile, if fizz is what you fancy,
And for champagne you're feeling antsy,
Partake, partake! There's no real need
To feature in the football breed
When bubbly calls, and Bobby's won.
OK, I think my poem's done.
Dear Mark, I must agree with you;
Soon the World Cup may be on view
In Wembley and not in Berlin.
I still recall we* couldn't win
Our way out of a paper bag
For years and years. It was a drag
To see the team go down in flames
To Iceland, or to other names
Unstoried in the football world.
Today, I saw the flag unfurled
By happy punters in the stands;
Yet I'm alert to your commands.
If Little England was displayed
In those stands, on the pitch they played
A take on o jogo bonito.
It's almost time for my mojito;
Let me just add that nothing's sure
In football or in economics.
You might as well peruse the comics
As make a bet for ten years hence,
Or two games for that matter. Thence
My focus on the semis, which
they've gone and made, without a hitch.
*OK, so I'm American.
But I lived through those years in vain
In England, when success eluded
The nation's team - am I deluded
To think we show ourselves in sport?
I think not, and that's my report.
Down with skool and down with beaks,
Down with little girly sneaks,
Down with Grabber, down with Grimes,
Plotting garstly furtive crimes,
Down with lines they make you do,
Down with filthy Latin too.
Down with every stupid game,
“Good for caracter!” they claim.
Down I sa with rotten sport –
Nasty, brutish, never short.
Foopball is the worst of all;
Grown men chase a silly ball.
“Oh, I love to watch them play”,
Molesworth 2 hav caught the bug,
Cheering from his ugly mug.
Even Peason join the throng
Hoping for the victory song.
All hav caught, I see with sadness,
This contaijus world-cup madness.
(I won’t watch it - did I menshun? -
Once again I’m in detenshun.)
This is compleetly GRATE Brian! World Cup is wen wets and weeds like us hav to pretend to lik foopball wich is stupid as any fule kno chiz chiz.
Yes, as any fule kno!
For the immeasurable benefit of folks who've not encountered Molesworth before, here's Wiktionary:
"a catchphrase of fictional schoolboy Nigel Molesworth, subject of a series of books by Geoffrey Willans." Brian, this is fab and brilliant.
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