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Snowfall, slow at first then faster so it covers the
Lines, and blurs the edges of the stadium into a
Picture postcard whiteness, that prompts reluctant
Memories of years long since lost to the passage
Of time. How the game was played, how we used
To watch; stuffed together on the darkened steps
Backed up under a caverous roof. Smoke drifted
Around – no chance of that now – as we stamped
Our feet in unison, or just to keep warm when the
Short winter days closed in, even at three o’clock.
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Schoolmates, workmates, neighbours, friends and
Families; a community removed from the streets to
The stands of their home town team; a matter of
Pride, then for sure. And still too these days, but
Now there’s always a nasty, impatient edge to it.
Everyone wants their pound of flesh, not surprising
Really when it costs so much to be a part of it all,
This inflated, hyped-up ‘experience of a lifetime’.
Back then, it was decimalisation, glam rock, the
Common market; full colour pix in Goal and Shoot.
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Now, the weather feels so much colder and harsher
as we shudder on our plastic seats, strangers to either
Side row on row – from scattered points, not just the
Local town anymore. But all united by the colours –
One thing that hasn’t changed. And still recollections
Comfort, when your mind wanders to bygone seasons
In the sun. Reminiscing over past glories, the players
The matches – the way you felt inside back then, not
So often that way today, it seems. Nostalgia props us
Up, keeps us going – loyalty beyond reason and reality.