The alleged champions enfolded
Into a scrum of swelling pride,
Of glad tears, tight hugs,
Handshakes with “Well done son”
And grateful credit for strong support
As the players bask.
Outside the gates the media swarmed,
Recorders at the ready, cameras in position,
Mics poised with every station colour.
Cue the questions and flashes of light,
Quotes scribbled down or tweeted,
Dissected by a hungry public.
We watch the three men in smart suits,
After nine weeks, the final result.
This is not a day of heroes or lifted cups
As placards condemn their crimes,
Newspapers highlight their gloating.
She was only nineteen.
