We politely applaud our fellow performers;

We clap and we cheer like they all had stormers;

But deep down inside we’re like graveside mourners,

All envying plaudits received -

Remember the great Jimmy Greaves?

Throughout the sixties he was, on the whole,

Acknowledged the best in front of the goal;

Expected to play a centre-piece role

In Ramsey’s victorious team,

But never to fulfil his dream.

A sorry spectator as Geoff Hurst got three,

Embedding his name in posterity;

Leaving poor Greavsie to watch ruefully

From the stands, but destined to play

No part in Alf Ramsey’s day.

‘Course Greavsie was always a bit of a drinker

But throughout the game looked a serious thinker,

“I hope that we win but that Hurst has a stinker”

After all, as the best of his day,

To his grandkids what would he say?

And so to return to this evening’s events,

With duplicitous visage I sit on the fence,

Then I clap your poem softly and keep the pretence -

But for mine to look better, I think,

It’d help if yours were to stink.