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The Manager speaks:
“You’re the fifth one this week!
I’d be rich if for each I’d a dime!
The umpteenth division
Is well beyond vision.
I’m busy. Please don’t waste my time.
The only ones come
Are the goalkeeper’s mum
And the groundskeeper.
They don’t buy sweaters.
We do this for love
And things I can’t think of
I’ll be shocked if we don’t all die debtors.”
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The young man considers
These other young bidders
But won’t be deterred from his mission.
Real pay would be nice,
But there’s always a price
To be paid by young men with ambition.
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“You see, Son, you don’t understand.
Who, pray, is to pay for all this?
The training, the grounds,
Tens of thousand of pounds.
How could a footballer miss?
We just ask for a small contribution
To help find your football solution.
We’ve a small factory:
Your day’s wages for me,
And I’d guarantee no substitution.”
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Now that footballer pays for his playing
(Though that’s not what he started out saying),
And a labouring striker was hired.
He’ll shovel some coal,
Then he’ll score you a goal.
That is; if he isn’t too tired.