I’m only having a laugh. I don’t care where you sit, what you wear, if you sing, or how you feel about the whatevers. I don’t care if you haven’t been to a game for the past few years, I don’t care if you have only missed one match in the last 50 years. I was laughing to myself as I wrote this and I’m still laughing now. Perhaps it’s only me that’s laughing and that’s cool too. Don’t get aggravated too much but if you do write an email to Lorry Doolallyripple or something.
Match day again and the telephone has been buzzing all day with business calls. I walk into the Kitchen and Hilda has made fresh Croissants with orange juice and Matagavian Thigh coffee from Waitrose which was on offer at £25 a half kilo. I remonstrated with the girl on the counter that it should be in pounds and ounces. She had a pierced lip so when I got back in the Range Rover I sent an email off to Waitrose head office to complain. I don’t want to see that. These punk rockers should be working in Aldi I’m sure. Disgraceful behaviour. What has happened to the youth of today…back in my day of course…I rememeber having a fine bacon sandwich or two on match days but cholesterol and that scare while in Florida last year on holiday. Hilda looks after me the poor confused thing.
Is Nono Spanish? I’m not sure. Definitely one of these Mediterranean types with a tight suit, Italian probably, not what we need this man. Not upstanding, temperamental of course, not solid, not what we needed. We should never have sacked Mick McCarthy or Paul Lambert in my opinion. What a fine man Mick was. Proper British football and man management offering a technical masterclass every game from the annals of Great British football. Of course we invented this fine game, we even gave it to the Peasants…I’m sorry the working classes. Tackling that’s the issue. That is the center of the game, mortal combat, the ether of sprayed blood from an errant tackle, get the ball up there so you can score. This is the crux of the style we should play. But this confusing tappy ball is not what we should be presenting to our support. It is not the Wolves way!
The Sat Nav in the Range Rover is playing up again so I’ll have to get young Benjamin in IT to look at it. It’s confusing all this technology, in my day we had an AA map and some idea of where you were going before Europe dictated that we should have this plethora of signage every where. It’s a disgrace but of course my company earns thousands from Europe as it does from Nottingham too who we are playing today. They look a fine team too these men from Forest. Good solid players with fine names like Snotbollock, Armpitt and Jones. Not like ours, I don’t think I will ever get used to their names. Jota apparently is Silva? How confusing is this??
The Tettenhall road is busy again and I bully my way through the traffic. I run a young woman off the road in a Fiat 500 and narrowly avoid running over several old people ambling across the zebra crossing. Don’t they know that I drive how I wish? I’ve leased this monstrously opulent vehicle as a benchmark to my success in electro plating fasteners for the last 45 years. They should move, I’m a busy man. I’ve paid my money and that gives me greater rights on the road than them. It gives me choices. It gives me freedom to do as I choose, have these people no idea? I shout angrily through the window at the car parking attendant behind the Northbank who has the temerity to tell me where to park. How dare he. I write an email of complaint directly to Jeff Lee. I’ll have the little scrote of an attendant sacked of course and I park where I wish. There is no way on Gods green earth I am parking too far away from the stand. I do not wish to ambulate myself in such weather such distances. Sitting at a desk for all these years has given me a bad hip. Have the club no idea? I’ve been a season ticket holder for over 40 years and have only missed 900 matches in all that time. I write a quick email of complaint to Laurie Dazzlypimple. Many exclamation marks. Four as I recall.
A few South bank yobs pass me and they are obviously drunk as they are singing some awful tune that has players names within it. For Gods sake, when I was young we sang the National Anthem and that was it. Why have these ‘songs’ have so many swear words. I sniff and take myself past them and through the turnstiles into the stand. I take my seat and in front of me are a couple of oiks standing. I remonstrate with them and send a quick email of complaint to Laurie Garglypimple. I can’t see the pitch and yes! I know that the game hasn’t started yet but I wish to have my view of the pre match jollity uninterrupted by standing people. One of them has a foul mouth and I attract the attentions of a Steward to complain and the foul mouthed roughneck is told off. In my day he would have had a birching. Oh what has happened to my country and my club?
Of course the game had much of that continental style of play. The passing of the ball without real end product. Indeed at one point even I remonstrate with Nuno Espresso Santa and shout loudly ‘Just kick the ball to the striker’. What is this midfield nonsense? 4-4-2 was good enough during the war and it should be good enough for the present! I write an email to Laurie Googlyhandle about it and look at the video screens. Waste of money if you ask me. What was wrong with watching the action when you got home? We are 22 minutes into the first half and I go into the concourse to select a pint of beer which I drink slowly as I peruse my phone and take the odd glance at the TV screens dotted around. What a waste of money this is. In my day you waited…oh Nottingham Forest have scored! What an excellent goal too! Our ‘defence’ are a shambles of course. Conor Coady? I will have more respect for him when he actually learns to speak English. I clap this fine effort and as I ladle a burger into my mouth (but don’t tell Hilda) I write an email to Laurie Gangleydamp about getting Coady some English lessons. I hear the South end bank start singing some droning monotonous song about Nino Spirity Bentos and building a team. Building a team? I wouldn’t fancy him building anything. Have you seen the state of Portuguese building regulations? The quality of their workmanship? At our Algarve Villa I had to send out British workmen to fit our new double glazed windows. Disgraceful. I write a letter to Jeff Lee about it while I juggle another insipid ale and type on this infernal phone. Alas I miss the start of the second half due to engaging in an argument on Molineux Mix and writing my match report for the Express and Star. I know the Director of the Express and Star Stanley Tightarse very well and his young Russian wife Elena. Such a delight she is! How 84 year old Stanley attracted her I have no idea but she diligently reattaches his Oxygen lines when we play Golf at Patshull.
But the Express and Star never seem to print any of my reports and Stanley just dribbles when I complain. It seems I have missed most of the second half so I take my seat for the remainder of the match. Nottingham Forest score again. This would never have happened under Paul Lambert or Hoddle. But play reaches 75 minutes and I leave my seat and make my way back to the car to avoid the traffic. Amazingly I have actually watched 35 minutes of football today and I congratulate myself thoroughly. The South bank are singing that droning litany to Nono Esprilla Zanto again and I chuckle to myself that there are few cars waiting to release themselves from the confines of this car park. But I am cheered to notice other like minded souls from the Northbank also on their way home. At least there are some intelligent people who leave early to avoid traffic. I mentally write the post I will make about the disgusting play we saw today for Molineux Mix. I may even write another email to Laurie GaryBindle about how to attract Mick back to the club. The lights of the stadium dim as I drive effortlessly down the ring road back home to my village of Tettenhall. Traffic is good and I lean back into the lush upholstery of my vehicle…I fancy some football talk and turn on the radio, but all I hear is static…..