The clapping, tapping

Recitatives and zoots sound

Above the velour green chequerboard,

Full canopied by old gold and black.

This is a data-shed of shared memory

Of growing up

Or growing old,

Of breaking up or making up,

Of victory or defeat,

Of almost and nearly,

The boot and leather,

The nylon whoosh of air

The whistle and a roar,

A growing roar,

A crumpled roar,

A triumphant roar!

Champions now,

The hi-res jackets file out to witness the South Bank

And its noisy communion of sweet reward.

Replenished and recharged now,

The golden core glows bright once more.