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Farewell, Sir Bobby

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Thunderous shooting that transcended his era.
Maybe you have to be a certain age.
When they announced it during the game
the crowd of six hundred
barely reacted. No gasps or murmurs.
My son shrugged, apologetic.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 I was thirteen in 1966, watching every game
I could on TV, filling in the wall charts.
Never thought we could beat Eusebio’s Portugal,
the team of the tournament. But two goals
from the the Munich survivor, the Busby Babe,
kept our Jules Rimet dreams alive.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 The opposite of Best in so many ways:
trying to hide his baldness, too worried
to be a hero. No pin-up, no tantrums.
Where were you when you heard the news?
Me, just a few miles from Ashington,
watching Blyth Spartans lose.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Didn’t expect it to hit me this hard.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/farwell-sir-bobby/