As the tartan hordes gathered expectation engulfed Glasgow
And the national beverage was in full flow
as Donadoni's Azzurri descended new Hampden Park
A sly smile spread on every Scot face, mean , broody and dark
On horror saturday Big Eck's soldiers were poised to attack
Viciously, no mercy, ripped to shreds like a bonito shark
The visitors would be torn amidst much trepidation
Engulfed in the roar of a united nation
For it was the 17th of of November, remember that laddie
The world champions would be humbled - they were beaten already
Toni draws first blood and the Italians look classy
It'll be a famous scot victory, you hear that lassie?
The heat of battle begins to rise, it seems at the touch of a button
Nonetheless personified, by the immeasurable Alan Hutton
Pressure bore fruit as Fergie of the Rangers at last unleashed hell
The superstitious screamed down the rafters, a wounded prey they could smell
From the stands watched the good PM Gord
As the visitors were attacked as sacrificial lambs to the sword
But on the night of the date that was to be a bad fate
The famous victory never materialised leaving many irate
As Pirlo's deft delivery left the home defence flapping
Panucci scored with many a head scratching
Once again Scotland the brave, gallantly miss out on the action
Just what was that legend about Azzurri superstition?
© Emdad Rahman - www.football-poems.com
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