Brick tenements gaze. Terrace drums pound, rhythms beat. Christmas fog descends.
Midnight clouds at noon. Santa hats spackle the stands. Scarlet scarves warm them.
Bengay fills the air. Mangled meniscus, chilled bones. Ailments won’t stop us.
Frosted morning grass. Rusted goalposts stand alone. First twenty two play.
Jack-O-Lanterns rot. Red bellied squirrels wander. Dortmund four points clear.
THE Spanish derby. The difference? Joaquín. Had the squad rapt, reciting some pre-match poetry and asking are they not … More
That #7 shirt looks tailored for Philippe.