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In the field of psychology, cognitive dissonance is the mental discomfort (psychological stress) experienced by a person who holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values. This discomfort is triggered by a situation in which a person’s belief clashes with new evidence perceived by the person. When confronted with facts that contradict beliefs, ideals, and values, people will try to find a way to resolve the contradiction to reduce their discomfort.

We tend to understand how those ‘ways’ tend to make themselves known don’t we? Fume and ball punching while the dissonant struggles to comprehend ‘We’ve got loads of money why ay we signed anybody?” and the whole circle of madness we experience in these dog days of no football goes around and around like a Merry Go Round full of fat Goths.

Of course we are linked with Player A or B and we rush to YouTube to find out what the crack is with them. They play beautiful football, they look great, they are young, hungry and we want them in our team. Then they sign for somebody else and the dissonance grows. We get it in the neck. People like Birmingham Mails Ryan Leister, people like me. You see we get a half whispered ‘fact’ off a source. Even a nod sometimes that we are in for a player. Me and Ryan want to share this shit with people, we want to massage your brains with a bit of information. Anything really to give us a handhold as we try to climb out of the hot abyss of nothingness which is the Closed Season. But my word. The grief when it all goes to shit or it’s only a half fact. I suppose in a way it’s our fault, me and Ryans. We should perhaps shut up and seek each other out to discuss secret things like how does he keep his teeth so lovely.

It’s brilliant this whole football madness. Even the grief is brilliant.

But what grief are Wolves having? Well none really. The Great Wolf Machine is still grinding through the gears facilitating the thoughts and philosophies of Fosun-Nuno into tangible and effective players who one day may play for us. Gone are the days when Wolves would unveil the perrenial hobbling Sagbo or the photo of Grant Holts tits in a tight Wolves top. Those days are away with the fairies.

Things have been quiet simply because players are still playinmg football all over the world. When they have finished booting the ball around for their countries then they will be pissing off on their holidays for five minutes with the Missus and kids. A bit of peace. Football is a massively fucked up and draining thing. I don’t know how they do it honestly. They need a rest. Then maybe of course they will sit down with their agent for a cup of tea and a chinwag about what the crack is with potential transfers. Fernando Von Tanneddude will be all Instagrammy and glowing. He’s just had a great season. He fancies a payday, a move, he wants to play in the Premier League, get some cash in for when his playing days are over. Wolves are mentioned. He doesn’t know who they are. Well mate, it’s a little City in the middle of England. It’;s a bit crap to be honest. The weather, there’s not a lot to do when trainings finished. Wightwick is OK they will give you a flat or an apartment there. Then you have to convince Lushlilly Tannedwench his Missus that it will be a good move for his career. Wolves are doing something. They have one of the best up and coming Coaches in Europe. They have ideas, Philosophies, a mad fan base, a History (even if he’s never heard of us). He can play with Jonny Otto, Ruben Neves, Diogo Jota, Raul Jimenez etc etc. But she’s quite happy picking the Red Snapper out of her teeth by the pool in the spacious opulance of Villa Tannedleg overlooking some gorgeous harbour where they saunter down when the evening has gone cool to see their beautiful friends, socialise, talk, laugh as the sun sets over the masts of the Yachts moored right in front of their favourite Cafe.

How the fuck do you convince her yet alone him? That’s why Wolves will have a target list of players that Nuno and his staff want. Like a Xmas list really. Becuase many of those players wont be coming. Wightwick and Tettenhall have charms…but not that many mate. I bet you any money that list will be twenty maybe more players long and each one will have been forensically looked at over the past probably 12 months. There will be files and DVDs, chats around tables about them. Then the Machine will start contacting people that surround these players. The ‘Lizard filter’ I call it. The advisors and the agents, the Dads who are quasi agents, the friends, the Lizardy money men. Then once all those hurdles are crossed you have to convince them…the players, eventually the wife or girlfriend. Then the whole work in progress depends on Lushlilly picking fish out of her teeth with an immaculate fingernail.

I’m glad they are doing it and not me. If Wolves get 4-5 players who register an intrest out of the 20 plus they have enquired about they will have been lucky. Then of course you have to negotiate and plan financial costs, how much mate, how to carry that cost into the business model Fosun have put into place. Madness…but Clive Cocknocker who has made 1,967 posts on Social media Wolves forums ain’t happy. He wants to know now, he wants his fucking players to flow in. For what reason I don’t know. It’s only known to him and it’s locked away in his bitter bald head. I’ve got names, I’ve got info. I’m a writer you know. People seek me out to tell me things. These people are highly connected at Wolves or not in some cases. Nobody can keep a secret, nobody. They want to tell someone or they will explode. So they tell me, then I forget most the time or tell someone I shouldn’t because I’m not good at keeping secrets either. I want to share jolly happy transfer news. It’s fantastic being linked with these players. I want to share that fantastic feeling with everybody. Well I did. Now of course when that whisper from a source starts I tell them to shut up. I don’t want to know. That way it comes as a big surprise to me when I see Paoloaoloa Slickbeardo walk out of Untouchables with a solar frog light and a packet of Rasta lighters.

It seems Costa and Cavaleiro are on their way. There will be a lot more trust me, Names we have grown to love and respect. Our players, our lads. They will be gone. Most of the contractual bollocks has been pencilled in already. The names will shock us and upset us. We will look to Wolves to replace the spaces in the team with other exotic players…who will not be there yet. There will be a vacuum of sorts as these players leave and nobody appears to be replacing them. This will be hilarious on Social media and I am looking forward to more dissonance and fume because now…I live for that shit. I have become much more stoical since Nuno came here. I have watched him and have in some ways adopted his philosophy as my own.

The players that are going…well I have a lot more to say about them but now is not the right time to talk about that as it’s going to be a very emotional bit of writing especially where it concerns Helder Costa. That bit of writing will be late at night when everybody is asleep and I am sitting with a glass of whisky or something.

But man, don’t these days tend to drag a little? I was starting to hate football as we drew the season to a close. I had enough of it and then when it’s taken away, then we miss it. We miss it really badly. Saturdays are spent walking with the rest of the walking dead around Bentley Bridge or the local garden center which now has a fucking cafe or an eatery of sorts. The pub is weird, you sit down and there is nothing to talk about with your mates. Nothing to argue about. It’s hot (or wet) and you feel a bit violent cutting the hedge or slapping Fencelife over the faded creosoted monstrosity of your garden fence. Even down the canal it has been weird. All the crackheads are sad, the radios are silent. We try to talk about womens football but it’s really shit isn’t it. Women footballers want to get paid the same as men. Well good luck with that. I’m a writer and I would love to be paid as much as that Game of Thrones bloke or Stephen King but it’s not happening. I’m not good enough. My writing can have all the exposure it can hold and it still wont be palatable…like womens football really.

What secrets do I have? Well…a few. I will keep them to myself for a while I think, let the Summer dust settle.