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notes from a small vicar
from a parish
in Liverpool, UK
Sunday, May 07, 2006Like father ...
Duncan's last game for us (probably) ended in high drama (not untypically). And at the end he brought his baby on to blood her into his ways. She's evidently learned a lot from her father already - see that look she's giving the referee...
We're now at the still point of the turning year ... the end of the season ... the point where it dawns that there will be no more (proper) footy for three months ... the point where the league table cements its truths, where old campaigners take their bows and new hopes are born ... the point where you stop to appreciate, again, what this beautiful game means ...
... at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.