You’ve got to hand it to him,
he strode like a colossus.
You’ve got to hand it to him,
looked dangerous on crosses.
Without him, it might well have ended goalless.
Without him, they’d have struggled to a draw.
The fare would have been uninspired and soulless
and frankly turned into a turgid bore.
You’ve got to hand it to him,
the Czechs could not contain him.
You’ve got to hand it to him,
they couldn’t shackle or restrain him.
Without him, it would have been unexciting.
Without him, we’d have turned on to the news.
The game was much in need of some igniting
and guess who was the one who lit the fuse?
You’ve got to hand it to him,
though he might irk you greatly.
You’ve got to hand it to him,
he’s not as obnoxious lately.
Without him, we’d have spent the evening snoozing,
snoring at the sight of Czech resilience.
Without him, there’d have been the risk of losing
a television audience of millions.
The man of the match award.
The man of the match award.
You’ve got to hand it to him.
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