A century on from the day the 1914 Christmas Truce took place, the football family has united to record a poignant commemorative message.
Vincent Kompany, Charlie Austin, Gary Neville, Howard Webb, Ian Holloway, Steve McClaren and Sir Trevor Brooking were among 17 to recite verses from the poem, written by renowned poet Ian McMillan.
The poem, titled The Game: Christmas Day 1914, was created from the thoughts of 320 U12 footballers who took part in the Premier League's Christmas Truce Tournament in Ypres, Belgium.
The video also brings to a close the Football Remembers commemorative period.
Running throughout 2014, Football Remembers has been a series of programmes and events delivered jointly by the Premier League, The Football Association and the Football League, in partnership with the British Council.
The activities recognised the sacrifices made during the First World War, and honoured the spirit shown in the unofficial truces that broke out across the Western Front during the Christmas of 1914.
On the first weekend in December, teams across the country took part in a joint pre-match photograph to recognise the remarkable show of humanity triumphing in the most harrowing of circumstances.
Over 11,000 team photos were sent in and they were uploaded to FootballRemembers.com throughout December. The poem will now sit alongside them.
The pictures and poem recital will be handed to the British Library as a record of football in 2014, 100 years on from the Christmas Truce.
Watch the video below.
The Game: Christmas Day 1914
The Game: Christmas Day 1914
It is so cold.
The lines of this poem are sinking
Into the unforgiving mud. No clean sheet.
Dawn on a perishing day. The weapons freeze
In the hands of a flat back four.
The moon hangs in the air like a ball
Skied by a shivering keeper.
All these boys want to do today
Is shoot, and defend, and attack.
Light on a half-raised wave. The trench-faces
Lifted till you see their breath.
A ball flies in the air like a moon
Kicked through the morning mist.
All these boys want to have today
Is a generous amount of extra time.
No strict formations here, this morning;
No 4-4-2 or 4-5-1
No rules, really. Just a kickabout
With nothing to be won
Except respect. We all showed pictures,
I learned his baby’s name.
Now clear the lines of this poem
And let’s get on with the game.
No white penalty spot, this morning,
The players are all unknown.
You can see them in the graveyards
In teams of forgotten stone;
The nets are made of tangled wire,
No Man’s Land is the pitch,
A flare floodlights the moments
Between the dugouts and the ditch.
A hundred winters ago sky opened
To the sunshine of the sun
Shining on these teams of players
And the sounds of this innocent game.
All these boys want to hear today
Is the final whistle. Let them walk away.
It has been so cold. The lines
Of these poems will be found, written
In the unforgotten mud like a team sheet.
Remember them. Read them again.
