Others wore blue that day, but we wore red.
We gathered in mass at our holy shrine,
sang hymns of common praise, cheered us instead
of hopeless failure ‘gainst the mill of time.
We fought as one: the old, the young, the gods
who animate the wishes of our hearts.
We called forth glory, crowned thieves, keenly shod
Hermes and showed him the scales of his art.
Football, as has been said before now, guv,
is a ridiculous and random thing –
like naming one’s children, or making love.
The world swears allegiance to playground kings.
But when I wear red (and I don’t wear blue),
I’m young again, and me again, and true.