You've heard tell
Of England's brilliant defence
But what of Moore's
Magnificence?

Captain of the English team
He was not the fastest ever seen
Not strong in the tackle
Or great with his head
But he read the game,
Knew what was coming.

Immaculate, composed
Calm under pressure
A prince of a man
Great beyond measure

But also a man
Of meticulous habits.
He'd line up
His shoes every night
All faced the same way.
And all the pans
In his kitchen
Had to line up too.

He'd not put his shorts on
Till the very last thing
To be sure they were neat
With no creases in.

So when he went up
To collect the cup
He had to be neat
To meet the Queen
Wiped his hands
On the velvet cover
So he was sure
That they were clean.

Then grasping the trophy
He held it aloft
In the scenes of triumph
We know to this day.

Alf was a quiet one
And wouldn't join in
Leaving the players
To dance and to sing.

There's Nobby Stiles now
With his toothless grin
The red headed Ball
Bobby Charlton in tears.

For our hat-trick hero
It's still sinking in.

Moore's on their shoulders
Aloft with the cup
A wave of euphoria
Sweeping him up.

We swell with pride watching
What will come next?
Our time is coming.
England expects.

It's not over. Stick with the story to know what happened next. The updates won't be quite as quick but there's more to come.