Marred match
¶ 1
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I hurried home after work, having left later than intended
and listened to the Mancunian misanthrope Morrisey –
hoping against hope that by the end of the night
it would be Rooney, Giggs, Ferguson and co wallowing in that
same wobegotten wretched state of mind.
¶ 2
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But unfortunately for me, it was in fact a portent for
my own melancholy, the mise en scène at Stamford Bridge
affording us the sight of a torrid Torres, misfiring once more.
The nearest thing to the magic of Marr, a looping header that was clawed away by the hand in glove, of Edwin van der Sar.
¶ 3
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What difference does it make? Well none, if any other Blue scores
but it’s Bigmouth strikes again;
and what is it with refs that find their lips glued when we have
players felled in the box? Perfectly legitimate penalties turned down.
That joke isn’t funny more.
¶ 4
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So we have panic in the streets of London,
no matter the selection, we encounter dejection,
shared by every fellow Blue;
so hang the cliché –
Kevin knows I’m miserable now!
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