pThe tournament returns, a cyclical curse,/ppA national habit, for better or worse./ppThe calendar marks it, the schedule is set,/ppTo summon the familiar, the cold, sweating fret./ppI’m strapping in now for the quadrennial ride,/ppWith hope as my compass and nerves as my guide./ppI’m ready for glory, for tears in the rain,/ppFor that sharp, aching thrill of the familiar pain./ppThe pundits are primed with their tactical charts,/ppTo dissect every movement and break all our hearts./ppWe’ll debate every sub, every questionable call,/ppAs we cling to the hope of the flight of the ball./ppThen the climax arrives, as it always must do,/ppWhen the spot-kick looms large and the stadium’s blue./ppThe penalty anxiety? A spiritual test,/ppWhile the ghosts of the past put our pulse to the rest./ppYet through the despair and the inevitable sigh,/ppBeneath a grey, hopeful, English-summer sky,/ppWe’ll turn up the volume, let the speakers distort,/ppAs Three Lions find home in a chart-topping sort./ppSo pour me a pint, let the madness begin,/ppI’m ready to lose—but, God, I want to win./ppbr/pbr/br/Support this podcast at — a rel='payment' href='https://redcircle.com/ghostman-radio-station/donations'https://redcircle.com/ghostman-radio-station/donations/a