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New grass, mown smooth and glinting in the August
Sun – fresh faces, new signings. New kit, new team
But yet the same old team, faults and all. Still, it might
Just come good this time. Who knows – not the boss,
For sure. And memories abound, down the long years.
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First time, back in ’69. A seat in the stand, programme
In hand. an excitement felt but few times in life since.
The green of the field, the gold of those shirts; all of it
Bathed in a vivid brightness to my young eyes. And we
Won, 3 – 1. Could it, or would it ever feel any better ?
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Graduation to the North Bank, the Cowshed my Dad
Knew it as. At the front, right of the goal. Our spot on
The steps and we saw it all – Leeds in their pomp, the
Reds of ‘Pool and Man. U. Dour Arsenal, slick Chelsea.
Law, Best, Greaves; genius cost a pittance to watch.
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The summer hols lasted longer, the days filled with footy
Games that never ended. Swapping stickers, awaiting the
Shoot League Ladders with baited breath. Girls but an
Occasional distraction, trying to impress from a distance.
The Three Degrees sang, When Will I See You Again…
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Sometimes, a pre-season treat at Walsall, or Villa. Odd
Match ups, before the real stuff started, and it all began
Again. MOTD Saturdays at 10. Star Soccer on Sundays
After lunch – heaven for a teenager obsessed with the
Team he loved; Hibbitt’s four past the Geordies, magic !
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A quirky League Cup tie by the time school had started,
Some lesser-known lower division combo – easy pickings,
But they didn’t read the script. We lost (no change there).
Still, my Soccer Stars album was full, the Top 20 crackled
On Radio Luxy. A simpler, happier, bygone time. Vanished.