Jubilate Messi
Steve Ely

‘For there is a note added to the scale, which the Lord hath made fuller, stronger and more glorious.’ (Christopher Smart, Jubilate Agno)

For I will rejoice in Lionel Andrés Messi; for he leaps before the Lord like David, and his joy is uncovered : Let the rain streak bright in the flaring floodlights, Empire’s phosphorescent rainbow arching like a cat.

For he is brave and boyish, with the dark eyes of the pit-dog and the shy mouth of the wolf : Let him shear the sheep of the bloody devil, pluck the condors of Falange.

For the cunning Right Hand and gloried Left Foot are but gifts from the finger of God : Let left triumph over right, the shin-snapping lunges of Goikoetxea and Ramos, the death-dives of Videla.

For cocaine and cortisone, Diego’s duende, Thatcher and Shilton’s woes : Let Castro and Kirchner join in applause for Azteka’s avenging viveza.

For Jack flies over Stanley, Belgrano is coffined at sea : Let Butcher and Beardsley, Fenwick and Reid be ruthless as Rattin, savage as Samuel, brutal as Batista.

For he dusts down and demurs not, nor will he fall to foul or faking : Let them be honest as the horse and humble as the ass.

For he has the grace of Garrincha and the guts of Gascoigne; Zola’s zest, the balance of Best, and Bergkamp’s balmy touch : Let Der Bomber give praise, and Henry’s heart, leap like the lenten roe.

For Garrincha lies dead in his drunkard’s grave, Best slaughtered, Gazza mortal : Let maté be prepared and neapolitan schnitznel, Milanello’s pasta e pollo.

For Guevara fought with Simba in Congo, El Proceso v. Task Force and those disappeared : Let Cuito Cuanavale live long in the song, how the FAR pulled the teeth of Die Groot Krokodil.

For though Sunyol is murdered and Guernica plaint, Galtieri and gauleiters - dead : Let the cloud-crested noontide soar albiceleste, eventide crimsoned and blue.

For the lepers shall inherit the mower-striped Earth : Let the grass spurt green in the urchinned precincts, the playgrounds plunge with boys.

For Alves knows his duty and gives him the ball : Let Andres and Xavi and Pedro attend, Sorin, Saviola, Juan Roman Riquelme.

For Balons and titles are but nets of the Tempter : Let the spirit flow with joy.

For he spurts from the butchers like blood-jet, fearless as Fangio, fierce as Gardel : Let the bobbles and rebounds fall to his fast feet forever.

Steve Ely is a poet from the Osgoldcross wapentake in the West Riding of Yorkshire. His novel, Ratmen, is published by Blackheath Books. His book of poems, Oswald's Book of Hours, is published by Smokestack and was shortlisted for the 2013 Forward Prize for Best First Collection. His current work-in-progress includes a book-length poem, Englaland, and he is also working on a biographical work about Ted Hughes's neglected Mexborough period.

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