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He had swerve, he had style; he could place
That leather orb on a sixpence for wingmen.
Artist in a team of artisans, bamboozled and
Bedevilled the opposition from Manchester
To Madrid, though only fitfully for his country;
Excluded for others, not better – just luckier.
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Notched a fair few goals too, the complete
Schemer – slender, almost slight; a mop of
Dusky hair, this Kentish boy a Molineux hero
To thousands across fifteen years of golden
Vintage. Three titles, an FA Cup, the floodlit
Specials – Peter Broadbent integral to it all…
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Respected by peers, revered by many – his
Story ended at Stockport, via Salop and Villa;
Idol of Best, imitated by Knowles. But never
Surpassed, blessed with skills in the Matthews
And Finney vein. Ball player, they called him –
No finer tribute from that age of hoof and thud.
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Cut low now, as he struggles with growing old –
Some good days, but mostly bad. Not a national
Star in the Charlton mould, just one in a Wanderers’
Team of heroes from that magical era. Symbol of
A time when football was hard. but fun; When his
Quiet nobility and born ability shone out to the world.