And finally, a poetic account of the winning goal from
It had been long and and dour battle. The Cavalier forces, out-
manned but not out-gunned, had endured the guerilla tactics and
war of attrition carried out by the savage enemy. But there were
doubts whether they could survive an extended campaign. It had to
be finished now.
Carr foils a Roundhead attack but instead of clearing the lines he
takes the fight to the enemy. Past one, then another, and an
accurate connection to Ferdinand. Instant control and pass finds
Iversen on the right. Suddenly forty thousand spectators hush.
For the first time the 10-men have a one-on-one situation. Young
legs against old.
On and on speeds the Norwegian warrior. Each pace takes
seconds, possibly minutes, yet the gap between him and Walsh
increases. The forty thousand start to lift out of their seats. On
and on pounds Iversen.
Pre-orgasmic sounds are heard all around..."Yes! Yes!, Come On,
Come On!" People are nearly standing now and still the blonde
haired avenger homes in on the opposition goal. How long has this
Suddenly time speeds up as he pulls the trigger. And then
instantly stops again as the keeper's hand makes contact with the
ball. Every one of the forty thousand is now standing. There is
more silence except for the sound of deep intakes of breath. It
hangs in the air for ever as blue shirts swarm round to clear.
But wait. Amongst the static blue shirts comes a white
thunderbolt throwing himself horizontally at the ephemeral orb
hanging in space. And then time returns to normal. The net
bulges as Neilsen scores. The sound of forty thousand berserkers
One-Nil to the Tottenham!
(With apologies to Stephen Hawking)
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