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Shuffles around, shifting balance – like he did on the wing
All in white, a silent skin. All those years ago. Forgotten,
Fading to nothing in his shabby little flat.
TV flickers, bottles strewn around. No cups to lift up,
No medals to shine. Anymore.
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From the Afrikaaner land he had come – to dazzle from
The sidelines, all along ever changed by his divided life
Back home. Like another outsider in the Northern sixties,
He turned to drink to stop the doubts, the pain, the fears.
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Well, a few games at York. That’s all. Then began the long
Goodbye. Consumed by the demons that persued him, he
Left the field for the last time with no applause, no cheers
Just reclusive misery – a man lost to the world he knew.