The Magnificent Magyars

The great Stanley Mathews summed it up like a beautiful day’s weather

"They are the best team I ever played against. They were the best ever."

Known as Aranycsapatin in Hungary, they played football with the lyre
The golden team to you and me, musicians amidst the pyre

Led by Ferenc Puskas, marauding Real Madrid hero, the galloping Major
Record goalscorer of all time, never will he be a stranger

Hidegkuti probing, making space in the hole
The first exponent of the deep lying centre forward role

Zoltan Czibor with the accuracy of a wild west gunslinger
His wing wizardry leaves a legacy of an all time great left winger

Then there was Boszik, graceful midfielder, a golden beacon and beam
A cultured playmaker, full of steam, the brains behind the team

Grosics took on the mantle of a revolutionary new role
The archetypal second sweeper, the heartbeat and the soul

Lorant the sweeper with flowing attacks brimming with power
An example so perfected by Kaiser Beckenbauer

We move onto the marauding right back, the steely Buzanszky
Express train, bulletlike, oh the young and free!

Lantos working simultaneously, a busy bee on the left
Sizzling pace, startling grace, leaving opposing teams bereft

Zakarias the defensive midfielder calmy policing his rounds
In today’s market he’d be worth at least eighteen million pounds

Budai on the right, always alright on the night
Tracking up and down, in and out, by golly he gave teams a fright

Kocsis nicknamed goldenhead for his aerial power
Indomitable Golden Boot winner, an irresolute tower

Fifty four world cup heralds the Olympic champions, all ready to slay
A long unbeaten run, they’ll blow all in their path away

A nine nil victory over South Korea, a West German massacre eight goals to three
The mighty Hungarians are in town, the travelling support are full of glee

The Magicians arrive on the back of a four-year unbeaten run
The outcome of the finals is still seen as a miracle by the Hun

Brazil and Uruguay like dirty rags on the scrapheap, tossed to a side
The march goes on and it seems that nothing will spoil the ride

But don’t understate German party poopers, proficient with the proverbial ‘boo’
Helmut Rahn knocks in a brace as Froitz Walters men triumph three two.

© Emdad Rahman
www.footballpoets.org