It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior But for the English Football is a beautiful form of torture Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days It may sound dramatic from the outside But from the inside When you’re in on the secret Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason And fate was sealed that day
The infamous Zidane headbutt It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson The world’s greatest are also flawed
Lampard 2010 World Cup It was over the line I know it You know it But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs Their misfortunes and their injustices Our time is nigh It’s coming home
The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo The glue on the boots of Messi The precision of the Pirlo pass The ‘Why always me?’ The ‘You’ll never walk alone’ The wins, the losses The joy, the heartbreak The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle The screamers, the blunders From Thierry to Titus Bramble Alonso to Okocha The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you The heroes, the villains The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it And the hope that maybe this will be our year The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals
I don’t know why I do it to myself But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way This is the beautiful game This is football