Growls and crackles on a rotational dial is rare;
Thank the Lord for DAB.
Absolutely huge, this game, for me, them, us.
Mates relay the action
Down an eager, wobbly transmission line,
Blaring updates with urgency;
Colours fizz two sides into view.
The grass turns to sand as feet entrench,
Curdling to a viscous, taffy, smush. Nil-nil,
Insomnical sleep, defined.
No tenored squeals until the very end,
Please. Not until after extra time.
A long ball slap, a hearty touchline scrap,
The destiny of the spot-kicks decides who goes up.