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In those golden days, they all looked like hard men –
Old before their time. Arms folded in a stubborn,
Defensive posture. One goalie, not four; Manager,
Maybe trainer – no kit man, assistant physio, tea lady…
Just the first team elite, the prime wearers of the Shirt.
No spnsors’ boards, no badges, no maker’s logos –
Just the trophies; lined up at the front, glittering prizes.
All that was needed to prove they were the very best.
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Defiant eyes, pursed lips – little to give away to
The camera lens. No fancy strip, no lucrative boot
Deals, no flashy cars outside the ground – they even
Travelled by bus to the match, rubbing shoulders
With the supporters. Another world – not so long ago,
But light years in reality. Values and standards have
Vanished – along with the old stands; now it’s a whole
New game, a cash-driven monster devouring the past.
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Those times now a distant memory for the dwindling few;
For many, not even that – just something to read about
In history books. But the legends live on – in spirit and
Substance; names to revere adorn the ground, evocative
Images strive to bring back the glory years. But once they’re
Gone, they never return…that special era of constant success,
Now so far away it seems like another football club, another
Town entirely; Still our faith, our loyalty, remains constant.