‘Didn’t we have a luvverly time the day we went to Ipshit’


Another guest post! You’re being spoiled. My mate Ian went to Ipshit with a burning question from me. Has it changed?

I keep being cajoled to do one of these blog efforts and when Mikey posed the question about whether Ipswich has changed or not I thought I’d have a go.

I thought a lot about Ipswich well before yesterday, I’ve been a few times before and something nearly always goes wrong with a trip there and we usually lose.
Saturday was going to be different, I’ve no doubts on the football side, my man Nuno takes care of that, he might have blamed himself for the Forest defeat, but it was nothing to do with him, it was my fuckin’ fault.

Attention to detail is everything in preparing for games and I have to admit to letting the lads down recently, at Barnsley I wore the wrong coat, Mikey told me I looked froze and he was fuckin right, I was never going to make the same mistake again but the Forest game proved I had made more than one ghastly error. The dropped League points and cup exit in January were down to one thing  and one thing only – bastard shower gel. January is the time you have to use all that shit smelly stuff you get gifted at Christmas so pre Swansea, Barnsley and Forest I used David fuckin Beckham shower gel – it’s in the bin now replaced with Adidas Ice Dive only a quid from Home Bargains.

The demons were trashed I was able to set off for Ipswich showered in Ice Dive and wearing my trusty old jacket, nothing was going to go wrong.

The ticket machine at the station was bost so I had a valid excuse to travel to Brum without a ticket, the day was already getting better, in fact the journey time flew by and we were in darkest East Anglia before we knew it.

First impressions weren’t too bad, we even went in the designated away pub which is a fairly unique experience as old habits of trying to remain anonymous on enemy territory are a feature of away days. One lad was attempting the Nuno had a dream song at the top of his voice in a bit of a state, nothing wrong with that we’re all Wolves ay we, well of course we are you daft cunt it’s the fuckin away pub ay it. We chatted for a while about sensible stuff like Costa getting better with every game, the warm weather training and who we might sign in the window but I was getting fed up of my plastic glass and we needed to move on.

Once outside Ipswich revealed itself in all its dreariness, we walked across  the bridge over the River Orwell. River? The Stour has more fuckin water in it, if I’d stood and had a piss off the bridge I would’ve doubled the flow into the estuary. Only later did we discover Mick must have pumped the thing out the night before and flooded the pitch. My mate messages me to say he’s in a pub on the Marina, I remember it from before but never approached it this way and seen it in  the cold light of day, what a depressing place for what is supposed to be the town’s best feature, awful place and the boozer itself is no better, pretentious, pricey and full of pricks. We leave in plenty time for kick off which tells you how bad it all is.

On to Portman Road, a behemoth of a ground, don’t get me wrong I love the old grounds but this place is in desperate need of tlc. The roofs of the two old stands are starting to look dilapidated and it’s not hard to imagine Mick’s old underwear drying on the radiators in that corner from where the players emerge. Their fans have no life in them which is no surprise as Mick can do this to a club and there’s only St Andrews where I’ve see more blue empty seats.

The game was a bit of a stroll in the park really, Ipswich huffed and puffed, gave their all everything you expect from a Mick team really but they had no answer to us.  Our front thee ran them ragged and to their and Mick’s credit they didn’t try the Colin Wanker style spoiling tactics or the Alex Neil style physical assault, they did chase and harry sufficient to put Jota off on a couple of occasions though. The defense was solid as fuck apart from a late Ruddy flap at a cross and the occasional slightly lazy clearance from Boly  (he’s still class – it’s all a bit too easy for him at times isn’t it). Bennett has proved to be some signing though, he was majestic yesterday absolutely nothing got past him. The biggest difference between the sides was in midfield though, Neves again pure filth and N’Diaye providing a little bit more energy and presence, the lad done well. Add the fact that the warm weather experience rejuvenated Doc and Douglas it was easy to see we were back at it.

Once the goal came, the result was never in doubt and although the heavy  pitch, the lack of energy from the home fans and the generally gloomy conditions weren’t conducive to a decent atmosphere we made one of our own. Nuno had a dream had plenty of airing and we sung a little song of our own for our little mate Helder, he’ll be back to his very best soon, mark my words.

The long journey back gave us plenty time to reflect on the day and the good times ahead, the doubters will have gone quiet and WM’s Rego will have to go back to dragging up FFP again now we’re 15 points clear of his beloved vile, fuck him and the rest of them, this is our time and yesterday was very much a part of it. I got back home once more thinking I was part of something special, another one they cor tek off us.

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