I got back last night after Carls lad had dropped me off. I was a bit worse for wear. A little miffed, a little sad and all the emotions we have were running around my little peanut head like demons jabbering and moaning, pulling out all the old grievances and scenarios. I tried to lift the latch and it was stuck. It’s bent you see, from people kicking open the gate instead of lifting the latch properly. Amazon delivery drivers, pizza leafletters, Postmen and women, drongos and basic wetwipes. I tried to lift it again but it was stuck solid. So I just ripped the fucking thing off and threw it on the front garden. Fucking shitty thing. I shout ‘fuck off’ to the sky and I couldn’t care less what the neighbours think. Fuck ’em.
So the night went and so we feel the last minute Norwich equaliser deep in our hearts and we suffer. Everybody else around us suffers too. Walking back into town there was hardly any match analysis at all. No laughing and no cheery hugs and back slaps and it was ridiculous but you can’t help it you know. We still get the pangs as a team pisses on our Parsnips when they play uncompromising pressing football. I’d like to write a few paragraphs about the Referee like I always do but now I’m resigned to these talent-less gonads constantly making weird LSD laced decisions about incidents. He is what he is. Redolent of the whole Championship experience really. We destroyed Norwich in the first half that much is true. But the weight of the season is now pressing down on the team. Individual brilliance mixed with that dysfunctional team ethic where the metaphysics of the passing and pressing play we have been used to over the season seemed weighty and cumbersome a times. But of course as Wolves fans we jump in the air like an ex squaddie at a back firing car. It’s stress for sure. A last minute equaliser for fucks sake. They always hurt and we jump at it. I suspect our team was a bit like that tonight. No cracks but we are flexing for sure, it’s been a long season man, you know this.
This is the legacy Morgan and Moxey left us with of course. That feeling that it could all go to shit again. It’s disgraceful really. I’d really like to blame everything in the past for what we feel this morning but fucking hell, just look at what we’ve done. We have decimated good teams this season week after week. Played such beautiful football that we have indeed walked out of grounds, me and you, gobsmacked. Now I thought the arse end of this season would be a downhill jog where we look back behind us and laugh at the Cardiffs and the Villas, we laugh and stick two fingers up to them as we watch their dysfunctional teams become a thing to giggle over. But it never turns out like that. There’s always some bubblehead behind us moaning. Always somebody booing and crying as we stand there and do our best to fire our positivity at the team through our thoughts.
But we don’t have anything to complain about really. Last night we still played beautiful football but it’s the Yin and the Yang of this football madness that has made us walk out of Molineux with our faces like they need a shit and it’s ridiculous isn’t it? Morgan Gibbs White for fucks sake. How he moved that ball around was a pure delight wasn’t it? His football is indeed arty and sexual, creative and dynamic. And he plays for us for Gods sake. That makes me happy. There were a lot of things that made me happy last night. We scored two goals, fair enough we let two in as well. But these doughnut teams that come here to Molineux are playing for their lives, in front of a Molineux crowd, under the lights, the hallowed turf. They pull an extra 20% out of their weedy little legs to take the piss out of us if they can. We play teams that aren’t demoralised like they normally are. These are teams galvanised by the way we play football. And it makes it tough, like it was during the second half last night. I had Jackett flashbacks and could see Lamberts Trainer shoes, Dean fucking Saunders weird perm. All these things like Wolverhampton Schizophrenia really. On the one hand the voice of reason and academic football (Nuno) and on the other a baying pack of pundit managers, slack arses and prongs.
Of course sitting down afterwards in my chair nursing a lovely glass of Jack Daniels (straight no water or coke) I ruminated on the game kick by kick. It was good, that’s what we do don’t we I suppose? The negativity always rises up when we have a few minutes of quiet reflection. It’s the Wolves way. We have to blame something. We blame because we lack real vision and that’s why we work in the places we do and wear the clothes that we do too. We lack the vision and the skills that Nuno and his staff have. Things are indeed good and positive. We still sit at the top of the hill. We are still kicking the other teams in the face that are scrambling their way further up the muddy slope of the championship. We are indeed a target. We are the King of the Hill. We have Neves and Jota, MGW and Saiss. Doherty, Coady (I love you Coady) Douglas, Bennett and we even have Ruddy the big bald headed knob and don’t forget he IS one of us with all his faults and flapping.
I know he’s a tit for not doing some of the things we would have done (in hindsight mind) and I know some of the team should have done this or that. Benik had a weird one again and at the moment he’s a Toblerone of a player in this squad. Angular and bitty, the foil sticks to him when all you want to do is chomp it. Benik will come good I hope but when you look at the bench. Bonatini, Mir, Enkobahare…I wonder what they have to say about coming back into the team and having a go. Le Fondre and Joe Mason are in my mind now and I think fucking hell, how we have progressed. The things Nuno has done here gives me a feeling that yes, everything is ok. Everything is a lot fucking better than the past few years.
What are we to do? Pick ourselves up and roll our fucking sleeves up. Plant your feet firmly into the ground and say we ain’t gonna be fucking budged. This game now history, gone into the annals of the record books where it will sit and gather dust and in 20 years time we will look back as we peruse some funky Wolves book we had for Christmas and hardly remember it at all. It’s time to really take on the Philosophy of what Nuno is doing here and entwine it with what we are as supporters. We have to support as we always have done. We have to turn up at the games and sing, shout, scream and support. We have to come together now because us lot, us in all the stands at the game who live all over the UK are under attack. This is what supporting your team is. And fucking hell isn’t it a ride Horace? Isn’t it totally mental the way it makes us feel? And it is pure living as Jota slides a goal in or Neves curls one on the outside of his foot. Oh my days what beauty and brilliance, what a fucking change compared to the last few seasons.
Bon Scott the lead singer of AC/DC God rest his soul once sang ‘It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll’ and I never truly understood it before last night. But walking through that subway again looking at the smooth polished floor I understand it fully. It is fucking tough, probably tougher on us than our players. A long way to the top…Preston, Barnsley, Sheffield, Reading, QPR…the Holloways, the Warnocks, Alex Neils, the bullshit and the banter, the cold leaching through the wrong coat choice, aching feet, hungry and pissed off. But fucking hell what delights when we do well and we walk out of those places with another three points. What entertainment and last night, disappointment. All gristle for the mills Horace. all training for what awaits us when we finally shuffle off the hill as Kings and we have another loftier hill to try and get on top of in the form of Premiership football. Now is the time for courage and strength brother. One day we WILL be carousing across some European City, maybe Barcelona, Madrid, Berlin, Paris maybe. Half pissed and singing and that’s the way we have to be and it’s only right and there is no better person than you to do it with my friend.
Nuno will throw a few thoughts at Mikey Burrows, looking at him like he just turned up for a family wedding with no clothes on. But Nuno will be focused on Fulham. That great juggernaut of Nunos intent will be redolent and raw and there is not another Manager or Coach I would rather stand behind than him. It will be OK ya know. It’s a long grinding road to the top if we wanna rock and roll brother. and I have a gate to fix.
4 thoughts on “Song For Horace”
Amen brother. Life in gold and black has never been easy. We got used to full houses, dreamy football and rolled over opponents. Time to link arms and stand firm. Iron doesn’t become steel until its been through the fire.
Truth brother, link arms stand strong
Truly a harsh result. But we are still the best side by far. Keep the faith. 12 more to go.
Amen indeed, good words, all will be good, believe in Nuno et al… and let the plonkers sink
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