Klinsmann, Cafe, and Calderdale
¶ 1
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Late summer 1990
Germany had won the World Cup in that July
And as the days turned towards Autumn
I spent a sunny Sunday afternoon in Hebden Bridge
Just a stone throw from my Pennine home
And a million miles from world cups
There in a cafe off the main high street
Was the blonde striker illuminated in Calderdale light
Sipping coffee quite still quite quiet
The football pitch and glitter far removed
And I was taken by surprise as the word “Klinsmann!” escaped my lips
And when he strode out and dived into a rattling battered off-white VW Beetle
I knew it was he.
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