‘We’ve got our Club back’
It’s a great feeling when you feel and say this,
The years roll back and you’re young again,
Walking through the terraced streets and alleys
Of memory and mind and imagination,
And all your family are with you,
And all your mates are all with you,
From different seasons and time frames,
Even though they never met each other,
And they all get on fine,
Because the impossible happens when you get your club back.
And there’s queues for season tickets,
And replica shirts, and no-one moans,
And you’re eager for the latest news,
And you meet up in the pub where the beer’s local,
And they’re all there from past and present,
And none of them have died or moved away,
Because the impossible happens when you get your club back.
And when you get to the railway station
After buying a season ticket for the first time in thirty years,
You congratulate three young men
For proudly wearing their STFC Academy shirts,
And wish them well in their future careers,
And everyone bonds and smiles in union
When you tell them, ‘We’ve got our club back’.
And a childhood hero joins the advisory board,
And becomes the club ambassador,
And the new owner of the club plays football,
And pulls pints at the County Ground Hotel,
And has selfies taken with the fans,
And Andy Beck aka Reg Smeeton,
Smiles beatifically high up there in the sky,
Far above the floodlights he saw erected,
Way back in his Shrivvy Road childhood,
Because the impossible happens when you get your club back,
It’s just like Roy of the Rovers and Alf Tupper,
With a benign rather than malign capitalist at the helm,
And even though supporters of other teams scoff
At my rose-tinted loss of proportion,
Who cares?
Because this is the moment
When we’ve got our club back.
And sometimes you have to live in the moment.
And sometimes, the moment goes on for ever.
Because the impossible happens when you get your club back.
