As It Stands
¶ 1
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Last day of the season
A point will be enough for some
Atmosphere crackling like a million empty crisp packets
Leaving only nails to chew
It’s out of your hands
If that team wins or that team draws
Safety could be yours
Or relegation – depends what happens first
A goal at another ground lifts your stadium to its feet
A radio in every other ear
One eye on the clock, one eye on the game
Sixty thousand stomachs practise macrame
Wringing hands use the match programme for origami
Anything to take your mind off the fact
That all the clocks have stopped
Unless your team needs to score, then time flies like a jet
Around the grounds in ninety minutes
Cloud nine plummets to hell
Before rocketing back to the sky
Some fans go home, desolate
They hear a roar, someone has scored
Waiting at the bus-stop; they’re Champions…
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