“The nation that will insist on drawing a broad line of demarcation between the fighting man and the thinking man is liable to find its fighting done by fools and its thinking done by cowards.”
― William Francis Butler, Charles George Gordon
I wonder lately whether watching Wolves on the Laptop or on TV has altered our opinions when watching a match. Is it a ‘Goldfish’ bowl where we are allowed to watch replays and reruns of incidents as well as the nitty gritty pass here and there. Has that forensic watching made us more critical? I’m watching it closely of course as ya do. Face pressed up the screen but I don’t shout and scream any more, I don’t seem to be involved at all and any regular readers of this blog will notice this shit has happened before but I’ve never felt it as deeply as now. Everything has gone a bit wrong. The club refuses to speak to the fans unless it is in glitzy sparkly videos or another fucking video of Compton where the players are having a right laugh…everybody is having a right laugh in fact. Everybody except us. We sit in our shit box houses and watch, seethe and hate. Why do FosunWolves hate us? What have we done? What’s happened to the team? Don’t you want to play for us any more? Is that Gold shirt too heavy?
Are we so horrible, us fans, that we are treated like this? I don’t think we have annoyed anyone at the club surely? We have behaved ourselves. Did what we were supposed to do and join in with the fun even if it is like having a quick wank looking through the patio doors of the funky orgy going on in the living room. It all happened pretty much without us. We were there of course, we are always here, always taken for granted too. It isn’t COVID either…I think there’s some element of Lockdown that has curtailed some heavily safeguarded event a few selected fans can attend…but looking back I think we all saw the storm clouds coming. To many this ‘blip’ is just an errant series of games and the injuries just bad luck. But we know what these blips turn into don’t we? Headlong tumbles into the nether regions of the League. We don’t know what’s going on. Fosun have made a void and we are filling it with our own madness and I will be honest, its fucking unsustainable. Add in this fucking great communication problem and a poor run of form becomes a full scale metaphysical riot of incriminatory backwards and forwards bullshit on Social Media
I know West Ham have hard ons, they have chipped away at the league in a workmanlike manner. Point here point there, three here. Of course they would have a pop at us and they did. Our defence is a shock lately and I am dumbfounded to be honest. What a state of affairs. When I was teaching we had a new kid in class. You know what 14 year olds are like, mental, this one had grey hairs in his beard. Hard life in Syria mate. I feel like that with many of our players. I don’t think they are really who they are supposed to be. Fair enough a jink here and a run there, a goal and we all get hard nipples thinking about our future with them. But our future isn’t theirs. I get the feeling they are treading water here. Last night was all gumph from our forwards. Chances, fluffed chances, low morale, loss of form. Willian is becoming funnier the more I see of him. Please put him out of his misery and send him home. But I can’t just pick on him. Traore started to throw some shapes of course, his assist was God level stuff. But I get the feeling it wasn’t really for the teams benefit more it was good for his YouTube videos or his new club to be. He turns up for a few seconds and then it’s back to the same old Traore. I know he may be missing Raul and possibly much of Adamas play relates to the movement of Jimenez. But at this level you must adapt, you must evolve your play. No Raul means adjust to your new forward. What he likes to do, where he likes to move. Feed them. But often just nah. But Traore exhausts me and I haven’t got anything to say about him any more.
In the past seasons of course the message of Fosun and Nuno were translated into football language. We could see what Nuno meant watching player A or B or getting a result at some ground. The players were the lubricant that allowed those ideas flow to us in the stands. There was no better way to speak to us than through the medium of football. Here we want to see fight, pride, effort all the fucking keywords. Now we get Blah, Duh, Pfft on the pitch and nobody loves us. FosunWolves, the team, the media department. Fosun stand on the shoulders of giants at our club and those giants stood on the shoulders of us, the scum of the earth. The people who stood outside the Civic center when our club nearly went out of business. The people who fought hard for our clubs continued existence. FosunWolves only stand where they are because of us. I watch West Hams third goal go in and I watch our players. Sad faces, Of course they care. There may be a video about it on Social media later. Couple of talking heads, scratching chins, rubbing their scalp. Here in Wolvesland we punch toilet doors, shout at the sky, go to the top of the garden and just sit down looking at the grass. The team, uninterested. FosunWolves continue to tap the cells on the spreadsheets, us…we wait.
Why do we wait? Because we are patient. We remember. The club was never ours to begin with, it’s always ‘theirs’ because they own it but what do they own? Commodities and cash flow, merchandise receipts, transfer profits, charts for growth, plans. All good wholesome abstract things that mean little to us. But what do we own? Ecstasy, grief, worry, love, and hate. What did the derby against West Brom mean to our players? Nothing. What did the defeat against Villa mean to FosunWolves? Adjust prospective cash influx. What did these results mean to me and you? Weeks of fucking pain because we work with these shit heads who support other clubs. We have to put up with the grief now while you laugh and joke at Compton. Pull. Your. Fucking. Fingers. Out. We are Wolves not Puppies. How many times did we see West Ham players powering in front of our players while they ran unimpeded towards Patricio? Disgraceful. Wolves? Fucking puppies more like. Get a foot in, take a card, grow some balls for fucks sake. Ideas are great but actions are better. Make your football greater than theirs, fuck ideas get some studs in the odd ankle. Let them know they are at Molineux. Let them know that they are playing Wolves and not some second division Portuguese team.
A great shout is everybody lashing Nuno about how Mir, Vitinha, all the other loanees doing great shapes at their loan clubs. Nobody has actually said maybe they don’t like playing for Wolves and would prefer to shine on a stage that isn’t Molineux. The questions I want to ask are exactly that, why didn’t your form here reflect what an obviously great footballer you are? Are you taking the piss out of us? Jonny mashing his knee up was a heart ache, I love Jonny but where is the dude that slots in? Takes over? Where is the quality in depth? Four years now lads and we still shoe horn the make shift defence into the match…is it their fault? Can we throw our angry missives at them? Not sure as when you do that then you start picking on one player and the whole experiment to ascertain some element of blame becomes snarky and hormonal.
With me flogging some nostalgic art over the last few weeks I have wallowed in the past because the future seems very shit. We are stuck with rich owners with all the charisma of a plastic bag stuck in a tree and the communication skills of a fucking paving slab, a group of players that are dysfunctional, talented but as tough as the skin on rice pudding. A stadium we cant visit. Pubs we cant go in. But I tell you what kids. I’ve met loads of fellow Wolves fans over the last month. I have been absolutely bowled over at what we are and how we are. We are absolutely fucking brilliant, mental, funny, generous and always fucking proud of Wolves because Wolves really is us. Me and you. The dickheads and the fruit loops, the Psychos and the hooligans, the gamers, ravers, punks, Rastas, the flakies, the Moms and Dads herding about 8 kids through the crowds to get into the stadium. By Christ you are a fucking treasure and it’s you that are Wolves, not them. They may wear the shirt but the shirt will never belong to them it will always belong to us. They may own the stadium but it will never ever be theirs. You win a match and for a few minutes we may allow you to share our joy but you will never be Wolves unless you bleed and suffer like we have. Then, if FosunWolves and the team drag themselves to the foot of any of the stands and show us the blood and the anger then…maybe you will be a Wolf.
This season is a load of dickhole and should be cast from our minds. If there is any lesson to be learned here it’s that when everything seems fine and dandy some fucking bastard will be along shortly to spoil it. That is why we are concerned and afraid. The One pack mentality isn’t dead, I mean it’s been on it’s last legs a few times in the past and still we turn up in numbers, still we sing our hearts out. Wolves in the future should be about us not them. One Pack isn’t a watchword for inclusion, not here. We include everybody who wants to go Wolvesing we don’t give a shit. Turn up, sing, go mad support your team but you know it’s time for FosunWolves and the team to give us something back. Games are running out and the points haul is shrinking. Already people are doing maths with results and I’m thinking about reading the league tables in the back of the Express and Star like we used to…three points maybe then we are there, point at so and so, then we will deffo lose that by three goals, so the difference is….on and on and on. Don’t let it be like that please. If there was Kwan it has deserted us. We are estranged from the team and from FosunWolves. From Nuno? Never. His choices are his to live and die by and such is the burden of Leadership. We just support really, this Coach this entity we know nothing about. We support and we reach out a hand to him and say there will be a break in the clouds and some point and we would like you to be there when we feel the sun on our collective faces again but now is the time for action not ideas, now is the time to give blood not soundbites. Speak to us Nuno, please.