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His well pressed suit is shiny
On the odd match day
In exchange for gratis tickets
He’ll agree to walk out on to the pitch
After being announced by some flippant M.C.
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Walking down the tunnel
Tears of dis-appiontment well in his eyes
He remembers how they cut him loose
Without even a miserly golden hand-shake
Or mega-bucks testimonial for his trouble.
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Now they want him
To walk around the arena
(Where he sweated blood and tears
For the cause every other week
Even staying when the rats were deserting the ship).
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So that’s what he does
Half of the punters in the crowd
Wouldn’t have known him from Adam
Back in the day
and they don’t know him now.
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Some things it seems never change
Including the knees
It was always the knees
Too many cortisone injections-
His doctor said – would give him problems later on.
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Climbing the steps to the pitch
His knees are at him again
As he walks out on the field of play
and waves to the bored cold crowd
Who look up from their plastic ham-burgers and gently applaud.
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“Who’s he dad”?
“Dunno son, used to play for us I think”?
“Dad…will we be home indoors
For Ant and Dec’s Saturday night take-away”?
Yeah I think so, best clap now though son it’s what’s expected”.
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