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Muddy elbows on knees, on a wrought iron bench
Players puff on a welcoming fag
Others sup on warm tea, a stale liniment stench
Lingers over their clothes and kit bags.
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A few of those pained, mutter solace
To sore joints, been kicked black and blue
As a jovial trainer walks round with the oranges
Trying to muster belief ‘mongst’ the troops.
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As the manager checks up on the wounded
He looks to his leader of young men
Who cajoles, then consoles with words soothing,
Demanding ” Come on boys, give ’em’ more of the same”.
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Two goals to one down, they’re still in with a chance
Of a sniff of sweet victory this week
Who knows what’ll happen, come this second half
Will good fortune shine down on this team?
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When the dressing room door gets a knuckle
Fags are stamped on by tired swollen feet
Half cups of warm tea are left stood in brown puddles
As a young team run back out…… to laugh in the face of defeat!