That Morison Moment. 


, ,

And at the resumption,
It fizzles and cracks,
With passing and build up,
And counter attacks.

From Marshall, from Morison,
As both sides have a go,
Bradford look natural,
But Millwall gung-ho.

His side might look better,
In control of the ball,
But the match put ten years,
Onto Stuart McCall.

A chance for Jed Wallace,
Lee Gregory creates,
He scuffs it wide left,
And the hope dissipates.

And as it progresses,
It feels Millwall are growing,
They are finding their forwards,
Steve Morison showing.

And Bradford are fouling,
And Bradford look pained,
So they look to the bench,
And they try to force change.

Millwall did their thing,
Brought Ferguson on,
He took on set pieces
While Bradford went long.

And corners for Millwall,
And corners again,
It’s closer, it feels,
Not just if, but more when.

Bradford look flatter,
And struggle to play,
As if even they think,
It will be Millwall’s day.

Then it is! Then it’s Morison,
Stabbing it in,
A roar for supporters,
A mile wide grin

Suddenly sparking
And its backs to the wall,
Eleven striped bodies,
In the way of the ball.

There’s a chance at the death,
But McMahon smashes wide,
Millwall victorious,
And Bradford denied.

45 Minutes… Away


, , , ,

The Lions roar early,
And pressure the box,
They earn a few corners,
But struggle for shots.

The Bantam spirit livens,
With a rapid, rapier move,
Marshall threads in Billy Clarke,
It’s slick, it’s smart, it’s smooth.

But when Clarke pulls the trigger,
Jordan Archer stretches out,
And fingertips the effort wide,
When the shot was in – no doubt.

The effort steels the Yorkshire side,
With visible belief,
Marshall and Clarke dominate,
While Millwall seek relief.

McMahon and McArdle then combine,
For a header with little threat,
Bradford keep pressing as Millwall drop back,
But there’s no more real danger as yet.

Marshall a string-puller,
Meredith, too,
Millwall just absorbing,
But able to do.

The Millwall set pieces,
More effective than play,
They forge some half-chances,
But find men in the way.

The Final


, , , ,

We convene.
From North and from South,
From East and from West,
To one place, to one town.

Bound by our common history,
Bound by our common geography,
Bound to the families who brought us here,
To all the joy and pain we have shared,
We convene.

We talk.
We talk of the past,
We talk and we laugh,
We talk of happiness and hope,
We whisper of agonies never forgotten.
We convene.

We remember.
We remember the recent,
We remember the ancient,
We remember those who are no longer with us to share,
We convene.

And across from us, they convene,
They talk of their sorrows and pain,
They talk and they laugh,
They remember their own history,
Remember their loves, and hopes.

For one day,
We sit together,
We hope together,
We dream together,
For one day, our stories are written together.