On the field where young tornadoes play, Under stormy skies and passions bold, James stands in goal, like the eye of the storm, Calm and fearless, a sight to behold. Captain Tom, our steadfast rock, Commands with a voice that cuts through the gale, Guiding his crew with eyes ever sharp, A lighthouse by which the team sets sail. Archie S slides through the heaviest rain, With tackles that crackle like thunder's own laugh, Xavier battles giants with steel in his veins, In the heart of the pitch, he's a warrior's path. Ze's boundless energy—wind's own breath— Covers the field with tireless fleet feet, Bobby stands firm like a sturdy old oak, Yet whispers to fate, "Please, no injury greet." Riley sends the ball with a flick of the wrist, A conductor of passes in nature’s grand show, Archie K, vocal, dances to the blitz, His spirit as fierce as the storms that blow. Callum loves a defence-engaged brawl, Ever reliable, steady as rain, Finley's speed, a lightning-fast call, Both in defence and attack, his strength's plain. Jake holds midfield against wild chimeras, With a glance sharp as dawn, his through balls unseal, And Aaron—a hammer—terrors the goal, With thunderous shots, he shapes the unreal. Henry sneaks round like a trickster divine, More cunning than wind in its whispering wiles, Cheeky as sunshine breaking storm's line, For the goal is where dreams unfurl with his smiles. This team of young tornadoes, they whirl and they roar, With strength and with heart on football's great floor.