The pain, the pain
¶ 1
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The pain! The pain! The searing pain!
I doubt I’ll ever walk again!
I think he’s bust, or snapped, or bent
my bleedin’ cruciate ligament.
So bad I can’t stop rolling round
each blade of grass upon this ground
while drenching all with blood-flecked phlegm.
The TV replays will condemn
that studs-up, lunging tackle which
has left me writhing on the pitch.
Surely there’s no other path
for him, save to an early bath?
Oh ref, the pain! The raging pain!
I’ll never play full-back again!
You’ve sent him off? The crowd is pleased?
Ah wait, I think the pain has eased…
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