They’ve been married since 1993

Said they’d be wed till they’re dead - i.e. for eternity

But when the man in black blows

And that silver whistle goes

Saturday at three

She’s living like a divorcee

A single soccer refugee

In solitary

While everyone apart from him can see

She’s a football widow

For two long hours his heart belongs somewhere else

He’s glued himself to Sky Sports

And stuck her on the shelf

Allegiances shift as romances drift

Unity gives way to a temporarily rift in their life

She becomes the invisible wife

While he groans and cheers and sups his beer

You can cut that atmosphere with a knife

She’s a football widow

He reads the game like she reads a book

Though he’s oblivious to the own goal he’s scoring

‘Cause when his world is electric hers is lonely, dull and boring

He swears, shouts, rants and raves, kicks the TV and the door in

While she sighs unsurprised and takes it on her chin

If they lose

He’ll drink more booze

So she’s praying to the Great God Rooney that they’ll win

But she’ll stick with him through thick and thin

Bear it and grin

It’s a cardinal sin

And amazing that she hasn’t reached for the tonic and the gin

She’s a football widow

She’s not quite seeing the beauty in the beautiful game

But whether World Cup or weekday matches his behaviour’s the same

Barging her into the margins ‘cause it’s England playing Spain

This commentator’s saying it’s déjà vu yet again

It seems it pours and never rains

For this football widow

Who doesn’t share his strange fascination

With twenty-two men and a ball, club v club or nation v nation

Retail therapy tends to ease her frustration

Compensate her deprivation

For this frequent 120 minutes of alienation

While he regresses and obsesses

She’s thinking “mmm - psychiatric examination?”

But speaking as a football pundit, in my summation  

There’s only one team in it that’s going to win it

And that’s not her – it’s him innit?

‘Cause she’s a football widow