If you read it in a comic, you’d dismiss it.
The plot, you’d rightly claim, lacks all conviction.
Football people to a man would diss it
as merely some improbable work of fiction.
A proud new nation hosting this great tourney,
keen to show the world they can deliver.
A most important step along their journey,
desire to make the deadest neck-hair quiver.
First game, burdened down with expectation,
the old war-hero brought in from the cold,
a decision that divides the anxious nation –
surely this Shevchenko’s far too old?
A goal behind, the discontent is growing.
The Swedes have come and failed to read the script.
But lo! a mighty wind of change is blowing
and everybody’s heart is tightly gripped.
Two headers swing the game in Ukraine
scored by the talismanic number seven.
the congregation kneels before the Saviour;
many feel they’ve died and gone to heaven.
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