Alfredo di Stéfano
¶ 1
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The “Blonde Arrow”
Brightest star
Whose joy nursed the birth pangs
Of football
The apostle whose ministry preached
The beautiful game
With his boots wedded to the ball
How well he would build the attack
And send his shadow off to slip
Silently through the middle
Like time slips through the hands
Of a clock
This man of flesh and blood and miracles
Tormented defences with a genius
Of limitless stamina
A genius that played out on a pitch
Of its own
The solo violinist playing sweet, sweet music
All through football’s Pagannian soul.
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