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Snow on the ground, ice on the wings; tragedy in the air
One February afternoon coming home from Belgrade.
A footballing nobility, a special man and his family of
Babes in red on the brink of further greatness, cruelly cut
Down in their prime. Who could have forseen the way
They recovered; an ironic symmetry achieved ten years on
At Wembley. The efforts of Busby and Murphy to honour
Their boys fulfilled at last. And in the process, mythologies
Created in a corner of Salford that soon engulfed the world.
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Before, they were just another team. Hard times and good
Times in turn, nearly went bust once. But after the disaster,
Nothing remained the same. United became the Nation’s
Own – a symbol of survival and revival. Emblematic of the
People’s game and its’ irrational, compulsive hold on the
Emotions of men, women and children. Nurtured and
Nourished by the sixties media explosion, this team became
A byword for style, flair; Law, Best and Charlton – the holy
Trinity worshipped by many thousands at every home game.
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A scarlet passion that overspilled onto the field at times
When the results started slipping and Stretford Enders took
Their own measures – from Euro Kings to grubby relegation
In six years. Revival once more; the Doc now in charge but
Dismissed too soon. Busby’s shadow still cast long across
Warwick Road. Then, more fallow years, as quiet man Dave
And big man Ron tried, but never quite got it right. Another
Scot eventually did. Now, money and trophies abound; the
Phoenix truly risen, but ghosts still linger – fifty years on.