Last time I was at Billingham Synthonia’s Central Avenue,
a cavernous arena within an oval running track and grassy banks, stray shots at
goal were retrieved by a single superannuated bloke in a track suit, but today
seven keen young lads were on duty, whose aggregated age would not match their predecessor;
kitted out in fluorescent training bibs down to their knees they did a top
notch job, totally earning their remuneration which included (and may have been
limited to) burgers at half time.
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