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Zinedine Zidane was playing
On the green beside our street,
Ginger tresses gently swaying,
Football sticking to his feet,
Controlling the midfield and spraying
Passes accurate and neat.
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At first I didn’t recognise
The midfield maestro on our green,
Barely could believe my eyes
That I was watching Zinedine.
It came as a complete surprise
To see him off the TV screen.
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A passer-by expressed a doubt,
With utterance quite terse and curt,
Claimed the lad was much too stout.
But he had not been too alert,
Because I calmly pointed out
The name emblazoned on his shirt.
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“Zidane” was there in letters writ
Across his broad and ample back.
Proof, without a doubt, that it
Was Zizou linking the attack,
Pausing now and then to spit
Some phlegm onto the running track.
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Strange, he doesn’t look that fat
When seen upon the little box!
Nor would viewers notice that
His hair has flowing, ginger locks.
Just goes to show a screen that flat
Can really fool the barstool flocks.
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