Teeming out of the underground
Like platoons of soldier ants
Two weeks away had burnt us brown
We wore garish clothes and tans.
Low-lifes in the shadows
Snarled through gritted teeth
“I’m buying, selling, any tickets to spare?”
Next to ineffective police.
Fans hugged fellow loyalists
Who’d been coming here for years?
They’d shared and wallowed in the joy
And comforted through the tears.
The queue for match day programmes
Was cumbersome and slow
As punters paid, snatched without even a thanks
And sped off up the road.
Transfixed small kids held on to dad
And tried to take it in
Their long awaited first home match
Was both riveting and exciting.
Old fans who’d seen it all before
Blew smoke at passing crowds
And remembered from the days of yore
When smoking was allowed.
Crowded streets were Bedlam
As excited fans in waves
Jumped feet first in to that hedonism
Of new seasons opening day.
In side the ground the tannoy plays
To a pristine spread of green
As the players, smiling, make their way
To warm up for coming season.
Later on that night, still excited
Small kids reflected through pleasant dreams
That “Sometimes one has to wait until the evening
To see how glorious the day has been”*