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And so the Geordie broke the news,
To this young red-haired Irishman
Who did not figure in the plan.
And Jack was steadfast in his views.
Chosen for the final squad,
Preparing at their Maltese base,
He learned that he lost his place,
And must have glanced askance at God.
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Forever faithful to the cause,
Passionately, he’d chase the ball,
In every game he gave his all
And left the pitch to great applause.
Cruel injury had laid him low,
But with a heart of hardened steel,
This warrior refused to kneel
Or lie down meekly in the flow.
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And thus determined, did he gain
His rightful place back in the team,
With prospect of each player’s dream,
A World Cup place! Yet all in vain.
Forsooth, a mere fortnight ‘ere
The first Sardinian game began,
Long Charlton fumbled with the plan,
And brought bold Waddock to despair.
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And so, alone and crushed, returned,
Discarded in the spotlight’s glare,
With dreams destroyed beyond repair,
Despite the battling chance he’d earned.
Reward and honour, where’s thy shame,
To wound an honest, noble heart?
What anger must we now impart,
When people say ‘tis just a game?