Stakes high in the Welsh rain, heart rates spiking,
Ryan’s in the owners' box, exactly what he’s liking.
Forget the offside rule, let’s talk about the sideline,
Blake’s looking like a ten, hitting every headline.
While the strikers hunt the net, she’s hunting for a smooch,
More chemistry than a lab, baby, that’s the truth.
Wrexham’s winning, but the score is secondary,
They’re the king and queen of the local sanctuary.
Lock lips on the pitch, make the stadium scream,
Living out a rom-com in a football dream.
Soccer’s never looked quite as Hollywood as this.
Forget the halftime talk, give us the PDA,
They’re selling out the merch and they’re stealing the play.
Reynolds’ got the team, but Lively’s got the trophy,
Sorry to the goalie, but you’re looking kind of lonely.
