Just a game?

 

Eleven ordinary men on a green field,

Billions of eyes quietly judging them,

Weight of a whole country supported,

Each playing one part of the system.

 

The team behind the team hoping,

Their vital work now all complete,

Their jobs continuously on the line,

On how the eleven can compete.

 

One aim but over a million ways,

To arrive at that ultimate goal,

Each of us know the perfect game,

Down to each short passing roll.

 

It’s a game of numbers or chances,

Depending on your personal views,

But only the two important digits,

Will be the headline on the news.

 

The referee is the man put in charge,

But he isn’t trusted by his peers,

Watched over by the new big brother,   

Swapping mistakes with new fears.

 

Months of planning and decisions,

All over in ninety short minutes,

A group of men written in history,

Just a game played in football kits.

 

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