Bit obvious and somewhat badly done ......
We don’t want gold.
Such outward things don’t dwell in our desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
We are the most offending souls alive.
This day is call’d the cup final.
He that plays for us this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
He that plays this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say “To-morrow is cup final day.”
Then will he open his cupboard and show his trophies,
And say “This medal I won that day”
Old men forget; the critics will forget, but you’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats you did that day.
Then shall your names, familiar in our mouths as household words-
Jack the King, Benteke and Vlaar,
Gabby and Fabian, Tom and Shay -
Be in our flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story we’ll teach our children;
And Cup Final Day shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But you in it shall be remembered-
You few, you happy few, you band of brothers;
For he to-day that plays this game for us will be our brother.
And so so many player players now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their careers cheap whiles any speaks
That fought and won with us on Cup Final Day.
