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Tramodol 50mg sort to control the spirals of ache I have and I’m up town walking around and in pubs with people and we are chatting and laughing and all is good. But I have filters. What is a Swansea? But I’m that tranquilised it takes me twenty minutes to work out that they are in the Northbank. We have the other incarnation of Nunos mind today. The players he keeps hidden away from us. The Gibbs-White thing. He’s a handful isn’t he? Head up searching for a pass. His movement more refined from when the last time I saw him. I don’t remember when that was but my addled head works out, yes, he’s improved a lot. Especially the way he moves into space, the way he blocks and moves. His runs are a thing for me. I see him in all sorts of roles in the future.

‘Fucking hell Ruben you fucking wanker’

People hate the Southbank don’t they? Little snide remarks about it, much fume in Social media. It’s reptilian and the Lizards are scurrying around again. Up and down Molineux alley. In the executive boxes, in the seats among the woolen clad Billy Quiets, their families have had them seats for years and their fat arses are welded to them. Ruben Vinagre wanders off after a red card. Was it deserved? Some say yeah some say no, some say I dunno. It’s done any way and Ruben is now about to enter that part of his career known as ‘A Pain In The Fucking Arse’. Three games out and who knows what Nuno will think of the incident. I know sometimes these trials Pro Players face will either harden him up and recenter his kwan or he will wilt and be sent out on loan to Le Loco’s on the Iberian Peninsula. I loved him at the start of the season. I like the way he runs down the wing, I like his crosses too and now he’s carrying one. Ruben I can’t help you out man but have strength and let this make you strong.

 I laughed the other week when Brighty strode around in the gaps in the play against Preston, he was chilling out, taking it easy and to be honest I never understood why. But now I think I do. I think it’s not up to me to comment on why Bright does what he does. I don’t want to comment because 1. I can hardly run with my knees and 2. Brights football understanding is on a totally different plane to mine. (All Things Bright And Beautiful-Southbank Resistance)

Filters. We all have them, and they slide into place when we go somewhere or do something. It’s what we use to protect ourselves from the vigours and the madness. Some use their filters as a shroud to hide their vehemant and horrible opinions on how a particular player is doing. Others like me just grin and try to be happy as I hear the doughnut behind me cussing Brighty again and again. This is his stage, old misery guts is the central character in his own play ‘Miserable Cunts Who Think They Know About Football’ a play in two parts with an intermission. The play lasts roughly 90 minutes. ‘Gary Safttwat’ works in a factory making parts for things nobody wants to talk about becuase it’s dull as fuck. So he can’t wax about how he hates it, but becuase the dull man has turned up on time for the last 30 years and doesn’t like taking holidays he’s been promoted Sales and Technical manager of ‘the place that makes boring things’. His office window looks out onto another factory in Ettingshall. All he sees is this factory. Sometimes he sits in his car and cries before he goes home. His Phil Collins CD is skipping as he sits in traffic on the Birmingham new Road.

He a Wolves fan. He’s got a Wolves mug at work. Saturdays are his days when Wolves play at home. But he has filters. You see people like Gary have a deep seated problem with themselves and that problem is self hate.

‘Fucking Hell Brighty you fucking cunt’

Molineux is a stage with around 30,000 actors all vying for the audiences attention. All thinking they are the stars of the whole show and of course they are. But there are a few voices all shouting and a lot of it is negative crap. Gary is doing it. His mate does it a few rows over. Every now and again you hear it through the cheers and the groans. Solitary filterless actors letting that negativity they have harboured and grown throughout the week grow into a mass of bubbling angry moods they keep hidden under their scarves until an errant shot or a misplaced pass makes them erupt into madness. The Referee is one of those actors. His resilience to common sense is majestic. At times he choked the game at others it lost control careering across the filters and becoming confusing. Their goalie looks like he forgot his kit and has had to get stuff ‘Out of the kit box’. Scruffy bastard. Swansea are singing something I can’t hear.

I met Foz once. I didn’t know who he was at the time. I was taking a photo of my car outside the Northbank before I popped in the shop. He walked past and watched me for a second and blinked then said ‘Paint it black put gold wheels on’ then carried on his way. I would see him around the Molineux doing things I didn’t know about but never spoke to him again. Journey well Foz, people have spoken about you with much love and I suppose that will speed you on your way and I wonder how many other beautiful people have we not met and shared a few minutes of our day?

‘What the fucking hell are you doing Costa you useless twat’

Every time I hear it my own happy mood starts to dissolve and run away down the concrete steps like hot piss. For fucks sake. The back of my neck crawls every time I hear it and another filter goes down and my head starts to ache again. These solitary and sometimes numerous voices leach energy from me. They are the vampires of joy and happiness. Throughout the match he does this. Each time my head sinks further into my coat and my back gets hunched and I too see every shitty pass and mad attempt to score. I too start to build my own filters up and they are dark ones, I see dysfunction in the team, it’s not going right, he should have shot, he should have done this. And each mental node is stinging with negative vibes.

I see him at half time in the concourse drinking and laughing and I want to punch him in the throat. That’s how his negativity has affected me. He doesn’t give a shit about the match. It’s his moment to shine. It’s a day when nobody is going to ring him up moaning about the parts nobody wants to talk about. His Missus turns her back on him in bed and he’s horny and it’s doing his nut in. But that new secretary at work, he tries to suck his gut in a bit. Tries to wedge his thinning fringe a little with hair product that makes his head smell like pot pourri. This is where he pours out his bile. It’s not the team. It’s him.

Big Alf is having a great game. Everything that moves towards him is broken under the will of his intent. I like him, he’s a bloody useful addition. One day Nuno is going to let him attack and that day will be one to make Big Alf his own legendary part in the play. We didn’t play too bad I thought. Doherty looked a bit knackered. Defence did ok, Coady didn’t look hassled by anything at all really seeing as the team made a load of changes. There is negativity here and it’s reflected in the play on the pitch. No matter how Costa and Cavaleiro tried to jump start some movement I suspect the negativity in the stand is being felt on the pitch. We should have done Swansea. They were fucking lucky. Rafa comes on. Debut, he’s massive, all elbows and angular bits, getting the ball off him would be like trying to fuck a shopping trolley. Few glancing headers which made me feel weird and happy. Few moves, he’s strong, you could tell a bit stale too, nothing a week with Nuno wont sort out. The next time we see him he will be treading players into the mud and scoring goals.

Yes the Southbank is a bit quiet. Funny isn’t it? Most of the people in the Southbank probably haven’t had many days off over Xmas. Most of them work in hospitals, factories, building sites, places where you ‘work’ instead of sitting on your arse updating Facebook about how much you hate Bright Enkobahare. Probably slagging off the Southbank for not singing loud enough. Yes. But we do what we want, that’s the whole point. Here in the Southbank we are a tribal lot. Not everybody in the Southbank truly understands what it is and these people enjoy it but they don’t understand it. You don’t like the Southbank? Tough tit.

During my halftime fag break I had to go into the right side of the stand. It was quite unfamiliar to me and I was lost in thought for a while while I smoked, looking at the memorial bricks. I think all those names on the bricks would love to be there right now looking at these players and loving the whole excitement of it. I bet those names on those bricks, the Sandras, the Stans, the Steves, the Alberts etc would fucking love to be stood there now watching our team. Wrapped up with a big scarf on having a laugh and a sing, a beer and a chat. I wonder what they would make of Gary Moanarse? I think they would do what I did and just filtered them out. Because at the end of the day every time I walk in that ground I’m happy to be there regardless of the score or the match itself. Winning is just Cherry time, plop on top of the lush triflely feeling of standing in there, watching and loving it. Ah I dunno. 0-0 and me and Horace are off to Swansea to watch the replay next week. I don’t give a shit about your negativity, I enjoyed it, I thought we were brilliant but unlucky.

I love every game I go to. I stay till the end. I sing songs by myself. I clap so much I cant feel my hands. The next day I can’t talk. I love watching my team. I only see the good positive things. I only want to say positive things about my team. I only want to encourage performance. Those are my filters.