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Bright cheerful expectant stands
Conceal from television cameras
And daylight, funereal concrete concourses,
Like black sheep at a family gathering
Where bronzed tee shirted cliques and their Richards
Drink topped up tepid beer from plastic glasses
Raving on about exclusive exotic locations
Where they sang out of date terrace songs.
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From seasons past
Wearing this coming terms,
Latest designer fashion disaster (anyone from three)
Sponsored by a struggling insurance company,
In some chic beach bar or restaurant
So fellow travellers
Could be in no doubt
Which football club they followed.
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Team are announced over the tannoy
Including waning stars:
You forgot were still with you
Or signed in the close season.
A platinum Amex card is tossed in to the air
As one from two gets to call
A blast on a whistle, and two company directors
Who own an impressive portfolio of property?
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Exchange ends and handshakes in passing.
Pseudo bitter rivals, at least
For the forth coming ninety minutes
Get prepared for the field of …pay.
Opposing fans hum stupidly to familiar tunes
Without a clue what the new words are
Looking sheepishly around about them
Feeling somewhat left out and isolated.
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Outside in the street
A fan avidly reading today’s match programme
Waits to catch the bus home get indoors
And listen to the game live on..505.
He/she looks back at the stadium,
As the bus pulls away, with some regret
Remembering with pride
When a football club once stood there.
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A tower of strength in the community
When the terraces were fit to burst
Every other Saturday
With fans you’d meet at all the home and away games.
David Coleman and Kenneth Wostenholme lauded over MotD
We had the Big Match of a Sunday afternoon
Brian Moore was the doyen of commentators
And the joy of the new season approaching was akin to: