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The Pompey man and Top Trotter; two
Finer, more upstanding men you could
Not wish to have in charge of your team.
They’re as pure as the Premiership, these
English bulldogs – no flies on them, you
Understand; so deny it all, before it’s said.
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Any awkward questions just act dumb,
It’s always somebody else at fault; I was
Not there, I never knew him, It’s an outrage.
Blame the FA, blame John Stevens, blame
Panorama, blame anybody but yourself –
Adopt ostrich tactics until it all goes away.
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Football reflects the world outside – it’s
Not clean, it’s not immune from the power
Of money, despite more than enough of it
Swilling around inside the bountiful game;
Even millionaires get tempted, and succumb,
Once in a while – managers and coaches too.
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And it’s always gone on, a blemish on the
Face of our national obsession that sometimes
Gets noticed. But why not look a bit deeper,
Under the skin; to the the owners with dodgy
Motives and dodgier money-making means –
Would the real villains please step forward ?