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... it trembled.
The Kop pulsed like a living organism. Drums thumped in waves, echoing across the terraces like a heartbeat carried through brick and blood. Claret and amber flags waved, not in unison but in rhythm, as if the entire stand had learned to breathe together. Every chant sounded sharpened, almost personal. Europe wasn't just here—it was owned, claimed.
Steam rose from jackets and mouths. Breath hung in the cold air like smoke signals, warning the world that Bradford hadn ...
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