The Beautiful Game
in the middle of the universe, I stand
fearless goalkeeper, and soccer is the
heavens, the brew in which we play,
this open turf, these twenty two players
and the thirty thousand serenading us, like
obedient Godless angels; make us complete,
unlike any other, we drive the battle
hard and fast, dogs of war; unleashed,
savage and without quarter
then, when the whistle's shrill starts to
count, and men retreat to bathe their pride,
or bask in laurelled-glory, deep inside,
we, a marching, playing, victorious band,
with my comrades, hand in hand,
in the middle of the universe I stand
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