Crowds gathered in stadia just as they always had,
driven by some muscle memory to herd and watch
fallow pitches. In time, weeds grew, breaking white lines
and adding some excitement. Wildlife moved in.
Cheers would go up when a hedgehog shuffled
towards the stand. Some favoured owls, hooting
through vuvuzelas. Occasionally, a fracas
would break out, say if a fieldmouse
was having a particularly good day
at the expense of, for instance, a jackdaw.
We had scarves made. We felt, you know,
like a community.