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Mad isn’t it? This whole ‘Dingles’ thing. I mean the Shit don’t call themselves ‘The Shit-ites’ or the ‘Shittys’ do they? I’m all for fruitcakes on social media getting their little groups of mates together on Facebook to send funny gifs and talk about each others illnesses but…you have to remember what this whole cack has some history and maybe not too many people are aware of it. Anyway this is the first of a series of guest posts from people I know and love. I’ve called it the concourse corner because it’s the kind of place where drunken grabby chats happen and you forget what people were on about as you are half pissed and trying to have four conversations at once. The content will be unedited so there may be things you don’t agree with or make you feel a bit ill. It’s all good, its all chat, To start you off here is a post by my good friend Bloxwich Bill about Dingleism, a strange social media phenomenon. 

The D word, loved by the Sandwellian swamp dwellers. They’re so quick to espouse it as an insult to followers of Wolverhampton Wanderers. But to understand the validity of the phrase Dingles as an insult – you need to appreciate the genesis of the term. Was the barb coined in Bearwood or Oldbury? No. The origins of it were steeped in the football rivalry of Lancashire – Blackburn & Preston fans came up with the slur about their detested rivals Burnley. So there’s the facts about the Dingle derision the great unwashed of West Birmingham are so quick to spew towards us of the Old and  Gold Black persuasion. Plagiarism. Simple as. None of the fucking idiots had the originality to come up with it themselves. There was no West Brum wit or wisdom on the matter. Their cerebral capacity wasn’t extended and their collective IQs never got above room temperature. They jumped on the bandwagon. The irony is some soap-opera family are the neighbours nobody wants. As if people want to be associated with West Bromwich! A weird, weird place. Full of even weirder people.

Their club crest is a Throstle – which is another name for a  Thrush. Quite fitting that, seeing as their ground gets frequented by irritating cunts. The Thrush’s is a member of the Turdidae family. Even the Latin name has fecal connotations – it’s an inherent recurring theme with them. Shit. Everywhere. Their nickname is The Baggies. What the actual fuck that means is anyone’s guess. ‘C’mon you Baggies’ they shriek, they enjoy coming on things. Usually a sibling.

This is allegedly how their nickname ‘Baggies’ came about. Two Tipton Wolves fans were on a night out in Dudley in the early 1970s visiting JBs. As the evening wore on and their beer goggles impacted on their attractiveness filter, they got chatting with two wenches from Greets Green. Introductions were made, and a visit around the back of the local supermarket arranged for an end of night knee-trembler. The first Wolf was wise and used his hands to undertake an advance scouting mission. When he felt spherical objects nestled in Cyclops Cindy’s belly button warmers he knew to get the fuck out of there. So a swift kick to the knackers and a Lost City kiss, saw the intrepid Wolf beating a hasty retreat in search of his friend. The second Wolves fan, was more Molineux Mix. Educated on a staple of Beano comics & Sun editorial columns. He couldn’t believe his luck that he’d managed to ‘pull’ particularly in his opinion a looker like Linda. Even her pronounced Adam’s apple wasn’t off-putting, and she confided in him that this was a result of a bout of childhood tonsillitis. Unfortunately Linda conveyed to the ingenuous fella that it was her ‘time of the month’ but she did really like him, and as he was endowed with a full set of teeth and both eyes, she’d still like him to make love in the ‘Greek’ fashion. Now our boy had visions of moussaka and tzatziki covered kebabs, but Linda said no she wanted to be serviced up the Marmite Motorway.

Terry from Tipton, needed no second invitation – the thought had him in a state of tumescent attention immediately. Previously the most exotic place he’d spent time in was the local Chinese takeaway. So their frantic coitus was undertaken over a pile of wooden pallets amongst the detritus of local commerce. Terry had quite a task of maintaining rhythm as he was prone to slipping out on numerous occasions. Once the act was concluded, the young fella was full of machismo, if not a little disconcerted how Linda was servicing herself with rapid hand movements in a most masculine manner. Terry left Linda akimbo on an industrial sized refuse bin as she sobbed and lamented that all men (herself included) were all fucking bastards.

He sought out his Wolf brother, and located him at the bottom of Castle Hill enjoying a bag of batter bits. Terry couldn’t wait to regale his friend with the proceedings of the last five minutes and forty six seconds. Tom our first Tiptonian was really curious given the close call he’d had earlier on so asked Terry ‘what wuz er loike?’ his response was ‘er’s a goer, but she’s a fookin Baggie Bird kidda…’ They scream it ‘Ya Din-gul bastard!’ – ‘but you follow The Shit’ is the stock retort. ‘Dog-head’ what the fuck does that even mean for God’s sake? But we’ll deal with it – ‘You still follow The Shit’. The contemporary one they cling to like a possessive limpet is ‘Wo1ve5’ their affection for this one is potentially explained by the number of digits they have on each hand. The number 6 resonates deeply with them. ‘ But you’re still a Shit fan, who follows The Shit’!’ The enmity towards West Brum is totally organic and inherent from a Wolves perspective. Whereas from the twats in Tesco Carrier Bags it’s more learned and contrived – the fact that they have another two clubs in the City of Birmingham is probably the read that underlies this phenomenon. This gives you a flavour of the collective absurdity when dealing with fans of West Brum. They argue that they’re a Black Country club. Yet they have a Birmingham postcode. The dialling code is the one for Birmingham. The local NHS Trust is Sandwell & West Birmingham, it all adds up. Their Ground The Whorethorns has a sign within 25 meters of it with the message ‘Welcome to Birmingham’. For fuck’s sake their primary stand is ‘The Brummie Road End’ a veritable cesspool on match day. Where discussions on match day center around incest & 1980s Yellow Ford Cortinas.

So as you can see the whole Dingle issue is apocryphal. Based on smoke and mirrors. If you’re a Wolves fan and you use it in context – be it a Twitter or Facebook username you’re wrong. Some Wolves fans have been known to sing ‘I’d rather be a Dingle than a Cunt’ – well you’re not Burnley supporters, so that can be ruled out. So you must conform to the latter… If you do use the Dingle word. Stop. Don’t give those fuckwit Olybion fans any validation. Starve them of the oxygen their pea- sized brains crave. Get on a desktop computer and change your Twitter @ & Facebook account name. Fuck the Albion.