Football Widow

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