For each day of the Worldn Cup I am going to publish a football poem.
Here's a taster. (The answer is something on the football field.)
What Am I?
I know that I am fearsome, terrifying even
The sort to remind you to let sleeping dogs lie.
Reduce refs to monumental blunders and giant men to crying.
We all want to escape an error we can’t deny.
I’m not the beginning of a deadly rash,
Though rash moves can bring me into play.
You can’t move me at all, not even for cash.
My station is to be stationary yet not in the way.
Whichever way you kick, my duplicate awaits.
I don’t cause injury, offer both utter joy and total despair
I’m the enemy within, the self inflicted wound
As the ball sits so very still, everybody freezes their last gasp of air.
