My Dad stood and then I sat,
On the Kippax, in different years with different teams,
We watched shite defence and shite attack.
And then Lee and Ball ruined us.
It always went a bit like this:
Halftime, 2-0 up.
But there’s no belief, no relief from the question at the back of everyone’s mind.
How are we going to lose it this time?
Kinky came and went,
Another wad spent.
Another dent in the wallets of the fans.
Another comedic season sent up in smoke.
Late nineties devoid of skill and supporters devoid of hope.
From then on it was always the same.
Where do we look? Where do we turn?
It was Lee and Ball. They burned us.
Failed and failed and failed us.
Did more damage than a Red shirt could ever do.
Wrexham. Bournemouth. Division 2.
But it didn’t change a thing.
Next Saturday at Three o’clock we’d return.
Because we were the experts,
On the club, on our boys.
On the intricacies of our dire game.
We’d always return to point our fingers of blame.
And then the Arabs came…