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the walk-in bath like something out of Cleopatra,
(the banter that it should have been filled with milk,
and then the scouse accents intermingled with laughter
at ‘Accrington Stanley, who are they? Exactly!’)
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We put our own team shirts on the rows of hooks,
then took them straight off again
to pull them over anxious faces.
Shoe-horned on freshly-cleaned boots,
slicked back Beckham quiffs and Waddle mullets.
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And then- oh!- the run out onto the pitch…..
the touching of the badge,
the wild flutter of butterflies,
the sudden surge of energy
as we sprinted out… to a ripple of polite applause.
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A charity match:
warm-up act for the main event-
First XI versus Old Boys.
First Half we kicked towards the Brummie Road,
Half the crowd hadn’t even left home yet…
it didn’t matter.
We lost 5-0…
It didn’t matter.