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We clicked through turnstiles in hope rather than
Expectation. Fickle Fortune had not, thus far, favoured Roy’s Big Plan-
Stuttering and stumbling and stubbornly refusing to catch fire.
‘Top half next season,’ we’d all laughed, ‘or even higher?’
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(Buoyed as we were by the belief and flair
Roy had instilled) it was enough to stand your hair
On end. Plus, there was the little matter of revenge-
Memories that are painful linger longer than Stonehenge.
We could have consigned the Old Foe to the Championship!
Instead we didn’t turn up, let our standards slip,
Careless and complacent. 3-1. A bitter pill for all to swallow.
(Harder still on that final day (though their victory was laughingly hollow-
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Against Blackburn; they lost and still stayed up!
Lucky or what? I should put money on that lot for the cup!)
But today would be different, I could feel it in the air,
In the tips of my fingers, in the tingle in my hair…
One minute to three, the music blares, the players are all out..
Nerves are jangling like car keys in pockets; hear that crowd shout!
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Ten minutes later the place erupts- the ball’s smashed home by Brunt!
What a stunning finish- (he’s so much better than Stephen Hunt!)
One-nil to the Baggies! (The chant now turns to something more blunt..
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We do love to sing ‘You’re getting sacked in the morning!’
Over the barricade of Stewards; those Wolves fans look in mourning!
Limply, a couple of black and gold balloons drift on by…
Very slowly disappearing into a bright blue and white sky.
Every attack now threatens to bring with it another Baggies goal..
Reid and Jones maurading down the flanks; Long’s pace taking it’s toll.
Hennessey kept busy.. now a last-ditch tackle by Ward
(Absolutely no chance of the terraces getting bored!)
Mind you, Wolves still have chances- what a stop by Jonas!
Poked out a toe, and pounced on Doyle’s slowness.
The second half kicked off with much more of the same-
Odenwingie on for Tchoyi, as we all chanted his name.
No sooner on than scored! Scharner cut in from the left…
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With baited breath we watched the Wolves defence left bereft
And scrambling to get back in time, but all to no avail
Neatly, Peter swept it in- surely the final nail
Driven deeply into the black and gold coffin. ‘All over’, we said
Even time left for Odemwingie to blaze over- but the game was dead.
‘Ref blow your whistle!’ as the streams of Wolves fans
Escaped through the exits, heads still in their hands.
Roy was his usual effervescent self-
Sombre and self-deprecating; while McCarthy deluded himself-
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‘Nothing wrong with the spirit in our team,’ he said.
I agree; shame about the lack of skill and flair that was so widespread!
Boinging all the way home with dreams of next February in my head!