Sven-Göran Eriksson – England Manager

The year 2000 brought no end, 

To the misery of England’s football fans, 

And Kevin Keegan, as England’s coach, 

Was not above and beyond reproach. 

With the media’s hounds set on his trail, 

And about to devour their desperate quarry, 

Keegan, considering his failed ambitions, 

Was obliged to tender his resignation.

World Cup glory was now in doubt, 

But England’s bosses were quick to act, 

And appointed Sven-Göran Eriksson, Sweden’s own,

With the task of bringing football home. 

This was a new start, a new beginning, 

Based on new models and new thinking, 

Like Cool Britannia lest we forget, 

Very New Labour and very correct. 

Of course there were some who did suspect, 

A case of ‘same old rubbish, but different package’, 

But at first England did rather well, 

Before the descent into football hell. 

We didn’t expect England to play its part, 

In making missed passes an exquisite art, 

Or getting us to pay the fine, 

Of having to sit through extra-time, 

As England kept to its old tradition, 

Unending like the world in motion, 

Exposing our nerves and frailties, 

By losing on sodding penalties! 

Despondent and glum we moaned and groaned, 

In the pubs and bars in the towns back home, 

Did Sven ever know his role, 

In making football that killed the soul? 

He caused our pain, we had no doubt, 

And we’d mutter, angry and frustrated, 

‘Since our players are so good, 

Why aren’t they playing as they should?’ 

The press unleashed its rabid hounds, 

And filled the papers with lurid tales, 

Of Sven’s amorous peccadillos, 

And future job portfolios. 

But beyond this continuous media froth, 

There were some who simply saw the truth, 

The realisation, that by plot or trick, 

We’d been fairly, somewhat, rather thick, 

And had closed our eyes, and our minds, 

To the findings of the wider world, 

That our golden boys were not so hot, 

And sooner or later our team would flop. 

I can’t remember when Sven left, 

To be quite honest, I’d had enough, 

Of football so painful and traumatic, 

And losing stupidly seen as tragic. 

English expectations, at that time, 

Profound, extreme, and rudely absurd, 

Based in the past, and founded on sand, 

Could prove too much for any fan.