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Wearing Ne’erday hangovers and tricked
out in the scarves we got for Xmas,
we queued for the exit as the echo
of the equaliser clashed with the full time
whistle. I did some quick arithmetic.
Is this what the seventies will be like,
I wondered? Dave Edmunds at number one,
Ted Heath at number ten
and the Tims going for six in a row.
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I could see Copland Road station outside
the stadium gates when a surge caught me,
took my legs in a heavy tackle. Referee,
I pleaded. Referee? The sponge man came on
but his magic was no match for my pains.
I was six feet under but they dug me out
and I was stretchered off by St. John’s
ambulance crew with the applause
of the crowd warm in my ears (auditory
hallucinations brought on by compressive
asphyxia). They ferried me straight to the nee-naw
and as I was on my way to the Southern
General I thought I could hear the siren (auditory
hallucinations brought on by crush injuries).