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Random pages from a random book,
A random record of a random club.
Five players and nine arms atop an open bus and a
Number nine, with a perm, running strong in the Wembley sun.
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Billy Butler shoots right foot and scores on a field of mud.
Hundreds of men with rain coats and flat caps and trilby’s
And boys with school caps and eager faces lean on a palisade fence.
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A team line up in goal with white knobbly knees barely showing
Twixt long socks and longer shorts,
Looking slightly embarrassed with nervous grins
And hair slicked back with Brylcream.