A Chance In A Million Poem by Mary Champion

Since that golden year of '66,
missed penalties and misdirected kicks
mean England's football team has never failed
to disappoint its fans and so, be hailed
as losers - overpaid and undertrained
and mocked when no more glory is attained.

Yet, here's a racing certainty to bet,
that ev'ry football fan I ever met,
will know, without a doubt, who should be picked -
a winning combo, certain to inflict
defeat on ev'ry other team they play.
They know the personnel. They know the way.

I listen to them laying down the law
about the tactics they all know for sure
will win the next world cup for England's pride:
and wonder why we're on the losing side.
But seems the sweet F.A. will pay no heed
to qualities a manager might need.

They have the money - far too much in fact,
which means, at least, they would be free to act.
The cost is no constraint, they could invest
and choose the very brightest - choose the best.
With a million fans who know what should be done,
they unerringly appoint the only one

whose strategy will always bring defeat,
who chooses players cursed with two left feet.
The only man in England who can't see
exactly how to gain a victory.
With experts all around, what will they do?
Select the only one without a clue.