“Don’t Look Back in Hangover”.

In Cardiff’s crown, beneath the dome,
Where choirs once burst in our dragon home,
Last night a different chant was stirred
Not “Calon Lân”, but Gallagher.
While rugby ghosts weep for Wales demise,
Oasis’ crowd turn up in bucket-hats and Levi’s.

The brothers arrived with snarl and two chords,
And conquered with just cigarettes and alcohol
With denim worn like ancient mail,
They sang of dreams that wouldn’t fail.
The crowd roared back with faithful zeal,
Forgetting rugby’s raw ordeal.

Oh, Wales! Our lads once fierce and fleet,
Are being crushed in hot defeat—
Not ’neath the roof with pints held high,
But miles away where blossoms die.
In Japan, they “Costello’d” like hens in fright,
While Liam reigned in Friday night.

Kicks were shanked, passes spilt,
Their pride collapsed like lager guilt.
A backline strung with thread and dread,
The daffodil a shade of red.
And meanwhile Cardiff swayed and swore
“Tonight’s the night we win once more!”

They sang of walls, of cigarettes,
Of pub-light dreams and past regrets.
As if their anthem’s northern drone
Could claim the stadium as its own.
While kicks flew anywhere – balls dropped frequently
Wales played as if they’d got up as early as me!

So here’s the truth, if truth be told:
The ball was dropped, the mic was gold.
Our boys beaten in Japan afar,
Britpop claimed the Dragon’s bar.
And in the clash of hope and hymn—
It’s the Gallagher twat who’s looking trim.

This poet grieves at the Oasis song
For our dying sport, “Where did it all go wrong?”
Last night in our stadium. No tries were scored, no tackles sung,
Just 90s pride with loosened lung.
And Cardiff, faithful, cheered in vain—
For all that’s left… is “Champagne Pain.”