The greatest of all games is today;
The primal football final; the one
All others aspire to be, and, hopefully,
As good a match as Seventy Nine,
Regardless of the challengers.
You may prefer the cold World Cup,
Or Champions League shenanigans,
Or even other sporting shortbread
Rolled flat and spread over weeks,
Leaking points and attraction,
Or not take to any sport at all,
Preferring to pepper your day
With saltier fare, or rarer pursuits,
From artists and parties less likely
To start a fight if they should fail you,
Or while away your time in political
Analysis, paralyzed by a system
Designed to assist us but tampered
With along its way from Cromwell’s
Commonwealth of sense.
But I’ll spend this afternoon recalling
The FA Cup I love, that seems to
Last all day, and I’ll cry when ‘Abide
With Me’ washes the memory of
My father over Wembly again.
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