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‘Twas back in nineteen forty in the small state of Natal,
There was an epic football match ‘gainst neighbouring Transvaal.
It was an unofficial game, as witnessed by the fact
That all the white, non-coloured football players had been blacked.
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The referee, a white man, seemed intensely out of place,
As well as which, he had a strange expression on his face.
His eyes were much too far apart [a scientific first]
He was a prime example of “apart-eyed” at its worst.
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The Transvaal started brightly and attacked with great ferocity,
And took the lead with such a shot of mesmeric velocity.
And to the home team’s chagrin, as the half time whistle blew,
The Natal back four fell asleep and let in number two.
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And that was how the score remained, till just before the end,
When two goals in a minute sent Natalians round the bend.
The place went absolutely mad, there was so much euphoria
The roar was heard as far away as Cape Town and Pretoria.
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And so the match went down as a quite scarce-imagined draw,
Two goals apiece, the home fans were delighted with the score.
And somewhere in the stands, a young girl danced with crazed distraction,
When suddenly she felt a sharp and most distinct contraction.
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“I think the baby’s on its way,” she whispered to her man,
Who very quickly beat a path down to his transit van.
They sped down to the Natal clinic, car horn wildly blaring,
As all her family followed hard to see how she was faring.
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Well, the baby was delivered, ‘twas a funny looking brat,
With greying hair and glasses and a great big purple hat.
The match they’d seen was in their minds, when picking out a name,
So they called him Desmond Two-two, after such a thrilling game.