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Packed in the stand, the rival choirs compete.
The pylons bathe the pitch in eerie light.
I feel the concrete hard beneath my feet.
It doesn¹t feel outdated¹. It feels right.
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Seconds till kick-off now. A long-lost sound:
Expectant hum. Then acclamatory cheers!
Anticipation echoes round the ground.
I feel myself transported through the years.
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This is the game I loved, the game I learned.
Not censored, sanitised for corporate gain.
Each watching eye ablaze, each penny earned.
We stand here singing in the pouring rain.
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They tell us that such times are past and dead.
But Shots and Seagulls heard that talk before.
We stood together till the vultures fled.
Now damn them all, and hear the terrace roar!
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The Shots reborn, the Albion on a roll.
Two sets of fans victorious in our strife.
We battled long and hard for football¹s soul.
Today we brought its spirit back to life.