I would love to wax lyrical about Lockdown and all the associated thievery it has spawned but I will be honest with you. I don’t watch the news, or listen to it, or read it. It was a simple directive from my Counsellor a few years ago and part of a step by step program to help me with a few minor mental help issues. It worked too. My news gathering was sporadic any way because as a person with more than four brain cells I could tell it was all a load of shit. It’s like transfer gossip, all of it. Half facts, lies and outright bullshit. One of the other directives was to reach out to people I regarded as friends and that reaped much hilarity and love. Social networks mate, not Facebook or Twitter etc. But real live people. Of course friends can infuriate you too and it’s that colour which can inspire, horrify, and amuse us no end. But more importantly it’s all about live social networking. Actually getting out and talking to people. I know that some of you suck all the propaganda in and that’s cool too. There is a Wolves angle to this of course. This is where we learn from Nuno…Zaha is such a tit. What’s wrong with him. Sparring with Ayit. Ayit is just a Yung, why is he pressing on him. Ids it shamefullness or what? Shame on Zaha, shame on him. Ayit is not bothered much, lay your hands wherever you want. Watch my magic that I do with my feet and my thought. What fucking Wizards has Nuno brought into this club. What kind of man are you Nuno? What magic is this? What are the insane conversations you have with Jeff Shi and Uncle Jorge? Who are these Portuguese madmen? These Frenchmen? This Spaniard and this Scouse? What are you making here? Tell us, tell us your dreams for fucks sake, tell us so we can get our fucking peanut brains around it. I suspect you all know where we will be soon in the next few years. You know the blueprint backwards and forwards. How ignorant we are…
The Crystal Palace game was a case in point. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to bang in a few keywords Nuno has used. Growth, Ideas, Evolution, Progression, Learning. Great words that float around our poor heads as we try to get ourselves through these crazy fucked up days. Our team has taken on these keywords and they are repeated as a mantra and the results were Roy Hodgson ol’shakey head trying to be stoical but knowing that he’s trapped in the deserted plains of his own senseless football, a football that belies any resemblance to our team and our football. But ya know, there’s Roy and his team, the athletic version of the shambling moronic dickheads we keep bumping into outside ‘In The World’. But the game…everything we expected. Kilman thriving in his role, growing, becoming a face on the scene, becoming something better than when he started with our team. I love all of it of course but….
They have taken it away from us. Football today seems so abstract a subject that it’s hard to extrapolate any kind of emotion or angst into something that you can’t touch and feel any more. It was getting like that any way with the Clubs takeover by FOSUN. Before Fosun it was a case of well…the club is being run by a pair of dysfunctional pricks and really it reflected our own lives which was chaotic, didn’t make sense, was a bit weird. All description you can slather over our support at times. So we had some sense of belonging even if we were all playing violins when the Titanic was sinking and had Jez and Steve running around telling everybody it was going to be ok. I showed my mate the video of the Wolves players larking around over their FIFA cards laughing and joking and he never broke a smile out, just watched it like it was something intensely alien to him. First time I’ve seen this, it worried me terribly and still does. I remark to people about the footie and the team all the time but increasingly they aren’t interested, not bothered by it. Happy of course the team are doing well but more importantly we are struggling terribly with our alienation with football and our team coming very low on the order of things to be concerned about. Ait-Nouri might be the wonderkid we need down that end of the pitch, a goal for him on his debut, a win for us but is it important any more? In the wider schemes of things?
I suppose there comes a time in everybody’s fight when you have been kicked, punched and broken that many times that in the end you just become numb to it. Is this a bad place to be? I don’t know. The numbness is certainly being replaced slowly by anger and aggression and I wait every day for someone to say the wrong thing so I can start to shout and moan, get all the fucking angst out so at least you feel emptied by an outburst, a little bit of emotion to feel rather than the same old bullshit. Ait-Nouri was brilliant on his debut, Raul was great, Dendoncker excellent again, DanPod becoming a more complete Jota, our three pronged attack looking scary and threatening, defence on point, doing what they are supposed to do. But it’s like that old analogy about if a tree falls over in the forest and there’s nobody there to hear it, does it make a sound? I also like the old Zen koan about ‘one hand clapping’ too and I think that goes quite well. It’s drama of course, any football match is full of it, but does it matter if there is no one there to see it, love it, hate it, moan etc etc?
It’s another bloody Lockdown as I write this. More bollocks. More no football. More abnormality. I have written much on how we as fans have to become as flexible and resilient as the team. It’s a great way to look at it but I don’t feel flexible and inspired any more, I just feel shit.
But fucking hell. Wolves ay we. We’ve been through some shit as fans. Old Bill bopping you on the head, those journeys following the team, the heart breaks, the joy. I suppose again the great mass of football fans will be quite resilient to it all being quite secure in their lives any way. But Wolves are going to lose people ya know. I can see it happening already. I’m tired now too so what to do? A show of strength and everybody storms the Southbank next home game? Get nicked. 10k fine. Pay your 15 quid to watch Wolves? Talk to your mates about the Palace game and they have forgotten who we played last? But keep the faith eh? Wolves will still be there after all this has blown over, there are some good things happening there. Out of darkness cometh light we say and I can’t quite see anything in this gloom yet. But how do we be like the team in these insane times? I suppose we can learn something from this madness so that at least we can pull something positive out of the whole clusterfuck of a year. I found out the reason our players were having a great time with their FIFA cards video is because they are playing football for Wolverhampton Wanderers the greatest football team in the world. Forget the Champions League bollocks and all this Premier League Championship crap. Trophies don’t mean much, neither does being Champions really. It’s great don’t get me wrong but it’s how you play football for me. Is it beautiful football, does it make me have goosebumps? Wolves man, our team. So I realise how lucky I am to support them and to be able to appreciate this football, this Nuno madness, The Chinese. That makes me feel better. I’m fucking giving the Good Lord a mighty fistbump for that. I know you can’t eat a football shirt but fucking hell. On Monday I watched three Gypsies beat the shit out of each other in a scrap yard while me and my mate wrestled an engine out of a car. The one little bloke kept getting whacked on his arse, every time he got up one of the other two whacked him again until he just started to scuttle around like some mad crab man. My mate didn’t even look around at them, they do it every week, they have been barred from every pub in the area. Fucking hell, how good did our team look? Watching it on a shitty illegal stream. How beautiful do they look? I wonder what Billy Wright, Stan Cullis, all those people we have lost, who wander those stands…I wonder what they think?
I can say this, it’s too much for me. As much as I hate football I love it too much. We should have been at every game this season. We should be smashing the fucking doors down at the back of the Southbank and steaming in there to watch for at least a few seconds that fucking team we love. Instead we sit down and moan about it. What have we become really? Would we stand for this shit if it was 1972? Would we bollocks. People would have been flooding out of workplaces and schools to demand our football back. Remember it’s ours and not theirs. How dare they presume to sell our sport back to ourselves, how fucking dare they. How dare they tell us we cant watch our team. A team that has ingrained themselves into our lives no matter how much we can’t quite recognise it any more. How fucking dare they. Who do they actually think they are these bastards in suits. You don’t own fuck all you bastards. You don’t even own your own lives and you have the presumption to take away what is ours for your own evil psycpathic power games. You are a disgrace and you are fucking criminals. You will judge yourselves in the end and I tell you my friends at the FA you will be fucking lacking.
The Palace game was just that. Team bollocks. Eleven men just starting to listen to each other and that endless mantra from Nuno is working magic in their heads, working the Nuno Juju in there and the mantra the fucking magic drone of Nuno love permeates their very being until every pass every movement is just an extension of Nuno and his backroom staff poring over spreadsheets and videos, learning and getting better, getting better every fucking game they play. Remember Neto, remember Podence too, Raul, Semedo and Mr Ayit himself. Neves, Coady, Patricio, DenfuckingDoncker. Jesus Christ if this is truly Wolves madness inject it straight into my eyes. I want to be in the pub and I’ve had five pints and I’m feeling a bit weird, we’ve won and it’s hot, the fucking coke, but I’m leaning over a bloke in a Wolvces shirt at the bar, he looks like one of these new fans and I’m shouting in his ear “yeah fucking hell I steamed into all of them, I don’t give a shit, I went for the biggest cunt and I think he broke my cheekbone but I had blood on me and it wasn’t mine”….fucking hell. See you at the next home match