Three goals – that’s all, however played,
Whatever kind of forward raid,
Whichever changes Wagner made,
Is blunt, is not enough.
At Leicester, Zanka wrote his name,
Jabbed home from close in early game,
His World Cup goal was much the same,
At Leicester, time was tough.
And there were still some, what, near misses,
Or flaws, mistakes, whatever this is,
Those moments grow in reminisces,
To live by those is guff.
The hosts, behind, their minds applied,
Became a very different side,
(As though their early form had lied)
Made of that ‘proper stuff’.
They swept aside a team that’s sinking,
With breakneck speed, electric thinking,
With Vardy’s new penchant for dinking,
So calling Lössl’s bluff.
The danger, should it get much worse,
The pattern, should it not it reverse,
Frustrated moves again rehearsed –
A barely noticed ‘Woof’.
The very bottom of the table,
The ‘r’ word growing on the label,
A cautionary small-team fable,
Is that a growing truth?