Bitter? Nah. Not Really.
¶ 1
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The Kid we let slip though our hands*
Laid on a pair and we were damned
To end the game with ten fit men
When our keeper caught a red again.
¶ 2
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At three down the fickle upped and left
Partly blaming our demise on ref
Who lets be fairs had better days
Sure but that’s what every loser says.
¶ 3
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In the rows of cold and empty seats
Those who stayed rose to their feet
Sang and cheered the youngsters on
As we shared their hurt in what went wrong.
¶ 4
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Three down, three down it’s been so long
I thought during a poignant song
As the passionate in the stands remained
Unlike the fickle, waiting on their trains.
¶ 5
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When the fourth official called an extra four
I shouted out aloud “Oh No I Can’t Take Any More”
Which caused nearby seat-mates to laugh
While they looked at me as if I was daft.
¶ 6
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“Will you be here when we play The Spurs”?
The fellow sat beside me purred
“Of course I will, and again next term”
In the hope (as all fans do) our luck will turn.
¶ 7
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We trooped out having caught three on the chin
When all you can do is crack a joke and grin
Seems the really put out ones had already left
As the the third nestled gently in our net.
¶ 8
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In the crowded streets the loyalists walked
Toward The Tube and talked the talk
Of those who’ve seen far darker days
and know now they’re all part of…The Game.
¶ 9
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Over dinner with my kids, I thought
It’s been a strange old year, (plus we’ve lost three nought)
Though this losing games can be pretty tough
I’ve decided when that whistle goes…it’s time for other stuff.
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