The Walk of Shame

Rain, rain, rain,
Lashing down relentlessly,
As we play our game of 69s,
Yet it doesn't stop us,
Or slow our momentum,
As we smash goal-after-goal,
Into the back of the net.

A ball flies into the box,
For number 68,
I throw myself toward it,
A diving header,
Glorious in its execution,
Puts the ball in the back of the net.

Another ball's launched in,
I see it,
And see nothing but glory,
I throw myself at it once more,
Looking for the fabled 69,
I connect perfectly,
But I lack accuracy,
And it goes a mile wide...

NO!

I am now guarding the goal,
Hoping and hoping,
That it won't be me,
Who concedes the dreaded 69,
And pays the penalty,
By facing the long and infamous walk,
The walk of shame...

The ball comes in yet again,
And up jumps the fox,
Heading the ball goalward,
His aim was true,
My fate was sealed,
As even when I dived despairingly,
And got fingertips onto the ball,
I knew it was in...

I was so close,
But not close enough,
The ball had spun into the bottom corner,
And anguish and disappointment wash over me,
As I now face the forfeit to end all forfeits,
I face the walk of shame.

All around the pitch I must walk,
The loneliest walk anyone could ever face,
In the duration of their lives,
So with my head down, and while soaking wet,
I am left alone to reflect,
On how I ended up with this punishment,
Wondering how the hell I lost!

All of this of course,
While the others sit in the centre,
Laughing and jeering,
Yet also applauding,
Applauding because they feel I was wronged,
Believing I didn't deserve to walk the walk,
But that, I suppose, is the beauty of the game...

Even if it does undermine the walk of shame.