In which Zlatan forgets his stripes; or Postzlatanica
In which Zlatan forgets his stripes; or Postzlatanica
By Max Grieve
Lo! And now the towers fall
Under some words too great
Alas, they had them built too tall
And they could not bear the weight
There Zlatan goes, and so goes all
Imagination. Allegri sighs, defeated
“Why have all my parts retreated?”
I met a Frenchman in the stands
His face was covered by his hands
Wearied by the fight below
And ignorant of distant fans
“I am Platini: hear me now!”
And he began an explanation
Of blind and deaf decisions
Or a new UEFA regulation
Though I couldn’t hear him all too well
Through his forks of red crustacean.
Lo! And now the towers fall
Under some words too great
Alas, they had them built too tall
And they could not bear the weight
Crushed by departure, Allegri calls
“Where are those we once admired?”
Sounds echo off four empty walls
They’ve left for Paris, or retired.