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A man of his time; the cigar, the glass in hand, the
Girl on hs arm – but he could bark loudly and it got
Him into hot water often enough. His team was City,
His mentor the wily old Mercer; A perfect pairing…
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His style, his swagger, his players ran hard but
With no little skill. Lee, one pen; Bell, Nijinsky; the
Stinging Summerbee. They bossed it at Maine Road
And Manchester was theirs – for an all too brief era.
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Champions, FA Cup, Europe – it all came so quickly
And he revelled in it; the playboy, coaching his way
To an offer from Juventus – just one step too far. So
Uncle Joe went one way, Allison went the other. End.
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But he was a man’s man, this Cockney lad who made
Good up North. One of a breed who spoke their mind,
Consequences be damned. So, farewell the Fedora
And remember him – a giant of the game, a presence.
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Confidence aplenty, an arrogant, absolute certainty
That his team was the best team, honed and tuned
To perfection – slick and effective in those red and
Black stripes; colours of his life. A man of his time.