Hey another day, another no dollars and before we know it the dawn of the cups, sponsored by some fucking doughnut company you’ve never heard of ‘The Bone &Sons Funeral Directors cup’ or the ‘Fresh Fred Kebab Trophy’. Whatever…league cup? Ar I know that one, we won it a few times. Andy Gray with the hair that seemed like it was styled by a monkey with a set of Aldi hedge trimmers. Apparently it’s sponsored by one of those weird Asian Energy drinks companies. Yeah, I don’t drink that stuff.
Yeovil ay it. Never played them before apparently. One of those clubs where the fans remind you ‘yeah we played you in 1985 and we battered you one nil’ and you nod and smile and wonder what the fucking hell they are on about. They came down to the Molineux the other night with the Beano Book of Football tactics, open on page one. Defend with eleven players or ‘defence as Mosh pit’. What do you expect from Somersetians? The Chellini gap 4-3-3 as beautifully presented by Juventus in the 70’s? They drink Cider all the time these lot. It was lumpy and ungainly, the last dance with an effalump in a Bilston nightclub, she’s had too many Malibus, you cant get your arms around her…Melissa Multipack. What fucking conclusions do we draw from this match?
Well from what I have gathered it was like taking Melissa Multipack back to her house for some half drunk jolly time. You know you’re going to hate yourself for watching it and thats why I didn’t go but…nah I didn’t have the cash to be fair but…Yeovil and the team we had out interlocks perfectly with Melissa taking her knickers off and you look at them on the floor draped over ‘Romellos’ electric 4×4 he had for xmas, draped or hung?
So our team grappled with the madness of Malibu Melissa and to be honest there’s no better team to put out than the old familiar faces, the dudes that have their own chair in the proverbial Wolves pub. Step forwards Jack Price and Dave Edwards. What better pairing to tackle the mountain of Melissa than them. Workman like and stoic I suppose, men that wouldn’t think about tongue tackling the alcoholic coconut breath of Yeovil, grappling with the bra that was welded together at Thompson Chassis in 1979, peeling the defensive Yeovil knickers over that massive hump of an arse, taking a deep breath and getting stuck in…
Jordan Graham and Young Ronan were like onlookers really, quite happy to let Dave and Jack deal with the problem of Multipack Mel. This is to be agreed with. Graham and Jordan are cut from a finer cloth and you can tell from the ten minutes I spent looking at the highlights that they were aghast at some of the things they were being forced to watch and a couple of moments there I was again on Cannock Chase when Stan Collymores willy comes through the car window and tickles me ear. Whoah and eek went Graham and Ronan, wahey! went Dave and Jack. So fair play to them, Graham is just coming back from injury but he has the knowledge and the flair, that slick Instagram presence on the pitch…Ronan is Irish so he has a romantic literary heart which comes out in his football….but they are watching Melissas big hairy arse going up and down as the Yeovillians hear the echo of their managers voice crying after their eight something dicking at the hands of Luton a few days before. ‘Euuuyyyoochoooork’ Melissa goes and Ronan is searching for that open window, a slick pass, escape from the Lunt experience of a cup match, of Melissa tearing out her hair weave in passionate farting madness.
Our poor Portugeezers. Tanned little athletes, yesterday they were in Monaco or Portugal, or a Turkish beach, playing with the tight body models on the beach, later on dinner at ‘Chagelle’ gently fried red snapper with fresh lemon and a divine cumin, tarragon flavoured rice with a sprig of dill as an afterthought, an amusing touch, a walk along the beach later in the cool of the evening……now? Chicagos on a Friday night, grab a granny, kebab and a punch in the face while waiting for a taxi. How can you torture these poor bastards with this Nuno? Have you no heart? Or is it a tactic? Here is Yeovil my young Jedis, this is the start of your war. Step forward young Salt’n’Vinagre, He’s only eighteen for fucks sake! Melissa will kill him! He’ll be scarred for life! Watch him struggle under the weight of Mel’s knickers, how will he do?? Well, he did ok and thats what fills me with a bit of love for him. Beating players he looks up to see what’s going on, not a lot. Dave and Jack are still going at it like a relentless Bank Holiday Steam Engine extravaganza, Graham and Ronan are trying to stay out of it so Vinagre does what he does, he takes the ball into space, beats a few dudes, shows us what the cut of his jib is, which is lovely to be honest and the sight of the Yeovillian/Lunt nexus going on in front of him isn’t upsetting too much. He thinks being there is enough and he’s right so he’s clapping and laughing at Jack and Dave knowing that yes, you can’t just walk into Mordor you can also fuck it to death and that’s exactly what our midfield looks like against Yeovil.
Nouha Nouha Nouha, what trials you have had my friend. When you collapsed in front of the Southbank with a crocked knee I could have cried. Now look at you, all trim, you’ve dropped some weight, you look strong, you are winning headers, what’s that all about? Goals, you’ve grabbed a couple. You looked in Melissas fridge while Dave and Jack did the Multipack dance, what was in there? Half a can of flat Coke, some chicken dinosaur shapes, an old lettuce and soldier that you are you had a swig of the coke, shoved a few dinosuar shapes in your gob and volleyed the Lettuce straight through the window and escaped. Thank You Nouha, I’ve never had a negative thought about you as you were playing…Nouha? Nouhas gone, through the window, legging it up the Willenhall road trying to phone Central Taxis before Dave and Jack have done what needs to be done….
So it was done. Yeovil awake to a sore head and go downstairs to get Romello, Jaden and Liam ready for the day which means throwing each of them a bag of Monster Munch for breakfast. Oh what days. I hope that these mixes Nuno provides us, ie the Latino hip pumping with the relentless gabba football we played most of last season will instigate an outbreak of beautiful football within the heads of our long standing players. Boly next to Danny Batth scared me a little, like the Yosemite Sam tattoo on Melissas tit, or the name of her dead Father inked on her neck. It will be ok though won’t it?
Derby Saturday. I’m not going. But I will provide some awful transcript to what has gone on there. Our team? They will shower themselves for a long time after the Yeovil experience, maybe the self loathing of what they had to do will mean a few tears curled up as they sit on the shower floor and later as they watch ‘Cash in the Attic’ on their 92″ HD Bludclaat Blu-ray surround sound TV and stretch out on the luxurious giraffe skin settee, they will think of Mel from the Lunt with some disgust but inside their hearts a little affection too.