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The time-honoured baptism: father and son
Enwrapped in hats and gloves and waving scarves.
That was my dad and I on the terrace chanting
For Stevie’s red and blue army half after half.
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It was Bright and Wright back then, where now
It’s Dougie, Clinton and Kuqi. We’ve been up, been down
A few times since then – the deep-felt indignation
When decisions go the opponent’s way. The frustration.
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A new man at the helm, we’ll win a game or two,
And then it’s back to the suffering, the disappointment.
A scalp now and then stretches hope ever eternal
Before the manager leaves heralding another appointment.
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We’re on a losing streak again and still, year on year,
I fail to walk away. Johnson he was magic: Johnson he is gone.
We remain. We stay in the pub for another pre-match beer.
Its my dad’s round next time. We’ll be back again.