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We, who eagerly made the short journey,
From Victoria Station to Fulham Broadway
Sporting credit card paid for gaudy suntans
and even gaudier fake football shirts and designers labels
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Had…ridiculed the mighty Iceland,
(As merely being a two for one frozen food specialist)
For having the gall
To thaw two, against Ingerland, during the recent farcical Euro’s.
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Questioned the antics of What I’ve Seen (But won’t buy) Wenger
As being more than those of simply a canny football team manager,
More like a major shareholder, or company accountant
Reluctantly refusing to part with he what considers his own money?
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Debated whether Antonio Conte,
Has a better syrup than Wayne Rooney?*
Who was his (Conte’s) tailor, and more importantly
Were those excellent gleaming teeth, all his own?
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Arriving at Stamford Bridge
(Yes our ground still retains its original moniker)
We watched the televised tail end
Of a digitally enhanced one all draw which failed to thrill.
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That was I have to say about as exciting
As a re-heated pan of Scouse
Or a tureen of yesterday’s Jewish penicillin?*
Depending on personal preference and whereabouts you live?
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While noting, was that little fellow
Sitting second row back in the Liverpool dug-out
Jurgen The Germans, exact double?
Despite being smaller in stature, than The Kloppite?
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Perusing through our glossy match day programme
We noted we could in for a match of quite epic proportions
Should the resolute Burnley defence
Be opened up, and parted in waves for Moses playing out on our wing?
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Yes it was good to be back, at my first home match
As you’ve most probably (from reading this) grasped?
Watching ‘The Football’ among the quick witted wags*
Always well up (even in the face of adversity) for having a laugh.