The lengthy poem by Chandler uploaded by Bellingham highlighted the vital importance of mental resilience, self-control, and squad unity when facing adversity on the pitch.
The text reads in full:
"The Lion does not boast aloud, Nor chase the praise of every crowd.
He knows the roar that shakes the night, Is born when fear is met with might.
The match is not with foe alone, The truest pitch is self unknown.
Before one pass is struck with grace, The heart must first have won its race.
For strength is more than driving speed, Or planting firmly every cleat.
It lives within the iron will, To climb again the steeper hill.
The body tires. The lungs grow tight. The legs grow heavy in the fight.
Yet steadfast minds refuse retreat, They drag the weary to their feet.
Endurance is a faithful friend, It walks beside you to the end.
While others yield to pain's command, It whispers low, "Hold your stand."
The clever mind outplays the strong Who rush with fury all day long.
A patient pass, a measured pace, Will forever conquer reckless haste.
The hawk may see the pitch above, The lion wins through steadfast love
Of every movement, every run Where many minds become but one.
For tactics are not tricks concealed, But wisdom sharpened on the field.
To know when pressing serves the day And when restraint becomes the way.
The storm may rage. The crowd may cry. The score may refuse the sky.
Yet none of these command the soul Whose purpose governs every goal.
No referee can steal your choice. No hostile song can drown your voice.
The world may shake, the night may burn Your answer shapes the final turn.
England wore Three Lions bright, Not chasing glory's fleeting light.
They sought instead a nobler prize, To master self before men's eyes.
They trusted feet that years had trained, They trusted minds that calm had gained
They trusted hearts that would not bend, Though every minute neared the end
One perfect move, One selfless pass, One moment born from countless tasks
The net gave way, The crowd arose, The thunder rolled through friend and foe
The victory belongs to those, Who rule themselves before the blows
And therefore earned a greater name, Than those who merely play the game
The whistle blew, The contest done, Three Lions' work had been won
Victory now was the score, Lifting gold evermore
But greatest triumph, clear to see, Was quiet self mastery.
For trophies tarnish And crowds grow still, Time itself outlasts all the skill.
But those who govern both heart and mind, Leave fear and doubt far behind
So walk the Lion's ancient road, Carry calmly every load
Meet each trial firm and true, Let discipline be the strength in you
For fortune favors not the loud, Nor always crowns the largest crowd.
She often walks beside the one, Whose hardest battle has been won
Not on the pitch beneath the lights, But deep within, through sleepless nights
And when the final whistle sings, And victory lifts its golden wings
The truest roar will still be heard, A soul made strong. A soul assured."
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