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R.I.P. BOBBY GOULD

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Bobby Gould dug his own grave.
With each shovel-full of incompetence,
he chipped another letter of his gravestone
till, at last, it was goal-deep.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Proud Preston were the visitors;
the play-offs gone, thanks to our April shower
when, beneath a cloudless sky,
we raced into a 3-0 lead.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Suddenly, a whisper spread,
rumour-fast, across the Brummie Road End:
We still hate you! We still hate you!
We still hate you Bobby Gould!
We still ha-te you Bo-bby Gould!

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Then, startlingly, a second chant surfaced,
ricocheting around the ground
like a Mexican wave:
We love you Preston, we do,
we love you Preston, we do,
we love you Preston, we do,
Oh, Preston we love you!

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Bemused faces stared back
from the abyss of the Smethwick End,
(Lambs pinned faithfully to their hearts).
Then, throats cleared,
and the Preston faithful replied:
We love you Albion, we do!
we love you Albion, we do!
we love you Albion, we do
Oh, Albion we love you!

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Laughter gleamed in the sunlight,
and directors made notes like policemen.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 As a postcript,
on his last day of the season
(his last day in charge)
fans paraded a home-made coffin
across the sun-kissed turf.
(How did they get it through the turnstiles?!)
And we howled louder
than the sirens
that whisked the offenders away.

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/r-i-p-bobby-gould/