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Friday 13th July 2018.

Time, a bag of thoughts on a rain drizzled morning in the Manchester Basin..the spell on fan-tab hot hot weather has now crumbled down to the usual summer weather which we have become used to for at least the last 10 years Rain in every colour of the rainbow in sizes from an ant to a roaring elelphant perhaps i am in a skimpy mood this morning and the play of words drifts through the rain clouds of my mind in bubble gum fashion.
I think it is safe to say i have climbed out from the bucket of football, i had sunk, wallowed, amongst after the final whistle, I do not think i can stand anymore hurt from an England football pitch anymore, for myself this play ball has gobbled up a pancake  the size of the moon since 1970 when at the age of 14..tears rolled down my cheaks..today at 62..a big heavy sigh in the lucky bag of reality that the nearly on win from an inch of a football boot collapsed in a froth of Good God. With thoughts of 1966..is going to be the one and only time England will lift the trophy.


If i can wrap up the whole day slip a gift tag amongst the hours and scribble one word to tag on the day..then fabulous would loom large...Even at 10.30am in bright sunshine as i walked down from the train station you could feel the buzz..the glow from people of whom most were so sure with bagged omens from the past that this year was going to be ours...The media, newspapers, Flag sellers such as this lad almost took your breath away even if you were not a football fan i doubt you could escape the rush felt through the city....For myself it felt like i was walking on air as if i could pass my hand through my body and pop it out the otherside into bright sunshine...
At 7pm kick off time the city was silent...the first half was amazing which dribbled into here we go again as soon as the whislte was blown for the second half to start..as the seconds drifted, climbed, to the mountain top we all knew and dreaded the penalty spot.... as defeat sank amongst our minds....the penalty spot never arrived...and i do not think we would have beaten France and the wonder kid...defeat in a world cup final would have been unrecoveralble and would have festered in our minds far longer than the win in 1966.


What will stick forever more about that day in my mind...is the young lad in white t-shirt whom is just on the edge of this picture whom climbed aboard the last train with an England flag and led the singing chanting amongst his cohorts the whole carriage was in uproar with a sense of humour only the English can do in facing defeat on the field...His imortal words which some are stuck in my daft mind......are along the lines of.....

                                      " We lost on Tuesday, we lost tonight, we don't give a Fuck cos were pissed tonight. "

I also expect that  himself and his cohorts got up for school next morning but for myself it brought a final smile to the night thank goodness and i slipped off home in a happy ish mood rather than those black dog days of youth. So Goeth...
               

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( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
devifemme
Jul. 13th, 2018 01:51 pm (UTC)
Thanks, Bi, for your impressionistic look at your Fair Isles' loss (to Croatia, whom you blessedly didn't mention) in the World Cup. We Yanks don't quite twig to such existential things -- but I do sympathize!

(We ony added to your tribulations now with the stupid visit by Trumpsky -- Mrs. May in HER tribulations should have "disinvited" him on any of a dozen opportunities, including when he was so obnoxious in Bruselles. [I dread hearing how things transpired at tea with the Queen and Philip...] And we still must await the WORST on Monday with Putin...)
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