I don’t really know anything about football. I’ve been going to the Molineux since 1972. We were playing Leeds and Billy Bremner booted the ball into the Northbank and knocked my mate out who was standing right next to me. I was hooked. I hate Leeds and I still laugh when somebody gets a good whack in the face off a booted ball. This blog is not going to be coherent. A mix of Eastern Philosophy and English football will not be comfortable bedfellows. Neither will my analysis of games be comfortable. My mind wanders during games. People talk to me during dull periods. My views are often the views of others who have concentrated in the moments when my attention has lapsed. But I am an observer, of body language and of dynamics. A metaphysical view of performance and the greater subject of ownership and the relationships between the team and our mighty stand ‘The Southbank’.
This blog wont be about the intricacies of the tactical game and the complex variables that all fit together to make this great spectacle an occasion to laugh with joy….. or as I do most matchdays at the Molineux last season, watch the fucking Seagulls flying around, great swooping circles in the blue sky above the John Ire…er Steve Bull stand. Underneath, on the pitch last season I didn’t feel the Kwan. Numerous players not doing their thing, a lack lustre Lambert fuck around and that in my infinite wisdom I knew it would happen. I didn’t like Lambert the day he turned up for the signing thing. His suit looked like a Bookies and the scruffy bastard was wearing trainers. I thought about Stan Cullis, impeccable, when the Board were made up of local well suited and booted local businessmen. These Monochrome men, stern faced, what would they think of this man? I think Lambert wouldn’t have got his foot on the first step of the stairs into the heart of the Waterloo Road stand. Those days we had a Commissionaire, ex Soldier, medals standing guard.
The new signing were cool. Costa could move about a bit, he looks quite normal, he says the right things to keep the Facebook knuckle biters happy albeit sounding like the kid who robs your camera while you’re sunbathing on a beach in Rio. I’ve never been to Rio.
Cavaleiro was a solid looking dude. Championship football was a fucking confusing thing to him. What were they doing? Why are my team mates running around aimlessly? Why does the ball keep flying over my head? Of course he got some neck. Maybe his heart dropped a little…..maybe I should concentrate on the metaphysical aspects of this great pantomime? I’m not sure.
Last season was a weirdly esoteric run around. The Cup run was strange as was Coady (against Liverpool) actually running without looking like he was trying to beat the flames out. I know it wasn’t his position but running is genetic not memetic. I would like to see more from him, I suspect his love and laughter may carry through to his playing if he allows his Kwan to flow. Don’t forget Conor Coady, you must leap over the barriers they have placed in your way. Concentrate and forge a path in harmony with the Kwan of the team.
Swapping Wallace for Jota fills me with love. Jota makes my nipples go hard, Wallace made me feel like my tit was caught in a mangle. What great things his fans said when he signed for us and then? Lacklustre and often pointless meanderings, unsure, no confidence displays peppered with a peek of potential. A sideboob of a player, Look! oh. Shit no.
Saville gets up from the golden throne and while still warm enter Neves. Oh sweet stroker of the ball, that ability, that silken touch. As Saville runs as if there is an earthquake happening see Neves glide and position himself. A touch here a touch there, a stroker a veritable positioner, a much finer artiste honed in the glaring desolation of the Portuguese desert where the only things of note are the ability to impress the Gods with a ball.
Willy Boly. What finer example of a defensive player does one need. As Xerxes he is. A giant among dwarves. His physical presence not yet defined but as many times last season when our defence collapsed to the ground under the shoulder of some low brow opposition team, i suspect this will not be the case under Boly. If we could put the heart of Stearman into the body of Boly there would be statues commissioned and kids starting school in five years time called Willy.
Jack Price. Wherefore art thou Jacko? This is your time my friend. A time to flourish and make that hallowed center ground your own. A General you could be, or a great artist, the tools you have to hand this season would make Picasso blush. These Portuguese signings are your brush to define how the team plays, to stroke those broad passes, to dab a splash here and there, to hold up your hand and tell the opposition ‘Thou shalt not pass’ and verily it would be so. It is your time and the great Wolves players of the past sit upon the golden stairs and hold out their hands to you. Will you take them? Will your Kwan flow?
Kwan yes. The best teams have a flowing Kwan but the Kwan is not a river it is the sparkling self belief and dare I say the telepathic ability to define your own play within the dynamics of a team. Last season we lacked Kwan. You could tell in Cavalieros face that he knew the Kwan was being diverted by the incessant dourness of the trainer wearing clown Lamberto. The style of play was the luxury sandwich they eat in the Billy Wright stand. It looked good on the menu but looking at it in your hands you wonder about the complexities of it, the strange new sauces you’ve never heard of. The weird bread. The way the waitresses tits jiggled as she brought it to you. The doughnuts in the other seats watching you eat it.
We resist of course. We in the Southbank, hence this blog is called ‘the resistance’. What does it resist? Everything. But the most important thing we resist is the idea of support as a commodity. I am inclined to believe at this moment that it is vitally important for anybody that buys a season ticket in that hallowed stand, that they keep it in the family. There are ghosts in that stand. Those ghosts bellow and sing even now and if you listen to the wind in the gaps between the songs and the plaintive wailing from the North bank you will hear them.
So this season what? What amazing things will we see from those acolytes of the demon Mendes? What delights will our jaded eyes be assailed with? There is an assemblage here, of players who understand Kwan better than Stan Hardknock ‘tackler’ and midfielder of cold English Winters will never fathom. From Compton our little funky brothers like Ronan and Enkobahare will flourish if they open their minds to the blue sky cocktails on the beach football of our new additions. There will be funky jazz chords underpinned by the relentless percussion of Ronans undoubted ability. The splash of vermillion activity across our hallowed green turf from Enkobahare…..maybe.
I have studied the I Ching for 30 years and use its poetic beauty to define what may happen this season. It’s a Chinese thing and I take my hat off to the owners the Fosun conglomeration. They have spent, but what does the ancient philosophy say? I of course deliberated on the new signings and the dynamics of the team as of now. I use Yarrow sticks to determine the Kwan of the team and the I Ching has spoken…
Hexagram 3 (Chun) Difficult beginnings. The receptive or us the fans, and to some degree the previous teams. All new endeavors encounter difficult beginnings but it is a beginning that was mean’t to be. It is the dream that is coming true by overcoming obstacles in its way. Chun is a seed which has sprouted and has to fight through the rocks and soil to reach the sunlight. It is a time to be fearless to examine your heart and see no barrier that is too tall and no enemy worth your time. With no enemies it is time to move forward with power. To be confident of our success. Eventually. There must be a power of commitment. Nuno must be given the time to flourish. The team must seek advice and not be afraid to utilise that advice as moving forward will provide barricades unless the advice is listened to.
Enjoy the Blog please. Don’t take it too seriously.