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He was a lad from a war torn land,
With family he came hand in hand.
To seek some peace and tranquility,
And live their lives where they could be free.
Soon learned the language was bright at school,
With A levels he was no-one’s fool.
His football skills soon caught Arsenal’s eye,
Then to play for England bye and bye.
Now fast forward to the Saturday,
His team now Bolton with Spurs away.
It’s the quarter final of the cup,
Excitement mounts as the teams line up.
Bolton score first, it’s a Bale O.G.
The away fans go wild, could this be?
Spurs soon equalise Walker to score.
Now they are pressing looking for more.
Forty one minutes show on the clock.
Muamba has collapsed, crowd’s in shock.
The crowd goes silent, people now weep,
Players are distraught, their vigil to keep.
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The green field of play is now transformed into a theatre, and silence can be heard from miles around as the crowd is to bear witness to a drama they have only seen in soap operas. How helpless they feel as time stands still, and life seems to have ebbed away from
the body, that only minutes ago was showing strength and skill.
Tension is mounting in the crowd as seconds tick away. Then a voice is heard shouting his name, and as in relief 36,000 are soon clapping and shouting his name. Then a roar as if to their god as colour and creed are forgotten, as tear stained faces release their pent up emotions. Now the lad is rushed to hospital, and the crowd filters away, in the knowledge that death is only a heartbeat and breath away.