That golden era. That golden era. David Bedford, Georgie Best. Olga Korbutt, Eddie Mercx. Tony Jacklin, Jochen Rindt. Ille Nastase, Rachael Flint. Gary Player, Clive Lloyd.
Cut and clipped to make you sleek. Whipped and brushed from stall to track. Laden down with heavy pack. Or carrying rider on your back. And finally your neck is broken.
Knight to Bishop 4. Next move in the cold war. In the Spassky/Fischer battle. To see who rules the castle. Spassky takes Hungary (and Czecks). Fischer takes Grenada.
How come all the best athletes. Had the poshest kits. While the slow, fat, thin, and spotty ones. Had shorts that didn't fit?. They never lingered in the changing rooms.
The little leagues, the spare-time sports. Works teams and pub teams. Sandwiches for the darts competition. Oranges at half time. Spare time tennis, scrambling on fields.
It's all about getting the ball in the back of the net, Brian. I'm as sick as a parrot, Brian. I'm over the moon, Brian. Well, I think the lads were well worth a point, Brian.
From the heights of Montezuma to the shores of Sicily. From the rainplains of Africa. Across the shining sea. From the East to the West. From the rainforests to the dustbowls.
She's a slip of a girl to be out of school. She's a product of apartheid. She won her spurs under minority rule. She's a product of apartheid. Afrikaners run the best.
Closed circuit TV and hooligans. The guinea pigs are the football fans. Using football's bad reputation. For crowd control operations. Seizing on any chance.
City, city, city. City, Man city. Living in the city. Manchester city. Colin Bell, Frannie Lee. Neil Young, Mike Summerbee. Rodney Marsh, Alan Oakes. Tommy Booth and Tony Book.
Matador impaled upon the horns of the beast. Tossed and flipped, a sequined rag-doll. This frightened, tortured, mutilated animal. Has got it's own back once and for all.
54 inch around the chest. Stitching ripping on his vest. Biceps, triceps, ready to flex. A gold medallion around his neck. He looks more like the Michelin Man.
Oh, where are you now George?. Now that wingers have been laid to rest. And shirts have adverts across their breast. And it's all about who's the richest.
All the runners running downhill. All the throwers with strap-on muscles. Gold, silver, and bronze. To the designer-drugs and anabolic steroids. Random testing doesn't exist.
Business bought the athletes out. With gold medals and role models. Drugs and media and national pride. Why join in when you can watch it on TV?. So out of the stadiums!.
Come on admit it, it never crossed the line. Geoff Hurst's goal in extra time. In the Third World War at Wembley '66. When England won again, to make it a hat-trick.
From Coca-Cola to TV politics. Cruise missiles to chicken-in-buckets. From words and images to advertising. From Colonel Sanders to cop-car sirens. And now the American Football circus.
Heysel stadium, it's easy to remember. How the game continued despite the disaster. "With all those millions of viewers, we've got to carry on. It would be financial suicide to stop at this point.".
When you ran 'round the block. And you thought you were going to die. You said you'd never run again. And then you had another try. And you felt a little better.
Barry John was the king of Rugby Union. He was fast and agile and extremely good-looking. All you'd see would be a flash of red. Wales were best, 'cause he used his head.