I remember him all those years ago,

Ploughing through the sleet and the mushy snow

One late December night at Upton Park,

Where pre-Christmas fixtures lit up the dark.

 

He made his move in his late middle age,

Flaunting his body on the public stage.

Far from Charles Atlas but certainly male,

Folds set to wobble and skin turning pale.

 

I recall the cold steamed up his glasses.

The players continued with their passes

As if nobody saw this naked man,

Shivering his way to a lengthy ban.

 

He was probably hoping for a cheer;

Perhaps somebody would put down their beer.

But unlike the cricket or rugby folk,

The football fans hardly noticed this bloke.

 

Caught by the stewards, grabbed by the police,

Wrapped in a blanket or some kind of fleece,

He probably felt a little relieved.

When he got back home, he was not believed.

 

Why did we enjoy such Seventies’ streaks?

They brightened up those boring days and weeks.

Across the turf, before astonished crowds,

These entertainers gambolled past, like clouds.