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Home fans supping lager tops
Are stood there drooling at the chops?
At the prospect of the contest on the way
Whilst twenty minutes down the road
The travelling punters who have showed
Seem confidant today will be their day.
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Packed coaches echo ribald songs
As coppers scream out “Move Along”
To youngsters giving rival fans “the finger”
Whilst angry faces chanting loud
Toward a partizan home town crowd
Are muted by a coach’s Perspex winder.
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As programmes sellers flog their wares
The early birds have climbed the stairs
In order to avoid the final rush
Of punters racing from the tube
To catch the kick off if they could
Whilst mingling with the late un’s from the pub.
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Comedians in the crowd
Stood cracking gags and laughing loud
At the slowness that the turnstiles gates go click
As angry punters three parts blitzed
Cry “Any chance of getting in,
At least before the two teams leave the pitch?”
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Clicked in the concourse seems bereft
Of all emotion, soul except
For an odd fan stood there watching on the box
Whilst others in the race to bet
Are somewhat angered and upset
At scant odds offered by a betting shop.
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Bar shutters rattle down
Last dregs of beer are swiftly downed
Punters quickly race to find their seats
A shrill explosion on a whistle
Is cue for: excitement, rush, the chill
Which only being at “The Match” can give!