- Joey Barton's job prospects.
All a little bit flat.
Two stadia in one day, as Crowded House didn't say. And a crowded house it would be too, but less of that later.
Breakfast overlooking an empty MK Dons' halfway line, due to a hotel night en-route back from dropping #1 child off like the only living boy in New Cross. The pleasant-yet-soulless Lego environs of the "Mad Stad" (or is that the erstwhile (HMH)Biscuitmen? Either way, fuck marketeers) was a harbinger of what was to come.
No slight on The Shed, they tried hard, although I could live without the abuse and the recycled stuff off the telly, but the atmos over the sausages had a similar amount of tension to that at 3pm, Full English? Plenty of stodge.
(As an aside to this aside, the oft-derided nouveau-Wombles were on the receiving end of my favourite chant, hurled by the AFCers, viz,
"Where were you when you were us?"
Who says terrace wit is dead. Me, most Saturdays).
Schlep across to the M40, pausing only to spit out the window when passing Buckingham, due to their associations, and, appropriately I stopped in the no-mans-land of The Lye to see an old comrade.
How we chortled at the WW1 connotations of a festive(ish) football feast, to be played out in the mud of Mud City, between two foes with more in common that you might think. But enough of the rose-tinted-testicles, and off to the real bollocks.
Did you know that there was a housing estate behind Halesowen College? Me neither. Yet that's where the skip was abandoned and I trekked pint-less to the less-used OHL turnstiles. The queue from the Don-Smith's-house-side was less than the serpentine line stretching towards The Earls, but it was bolstered by a bunch of Stourbr*dge bastards in front of me. Which I pointed out to them. However, Gary Hackett and Jon Ford claimed Swiss-style neutrality, and he did score that screamer for The Shrews, so, as he'd probably prefer, we called it a draw.
Packed house and impossible bustle for beer kept me in the Tikaram-inspired twisted sobriety, and the good tradition of standing up-the-corner. The first half wasn't a good advert for anything. Maybe chiropractors from the neck-ache. Certainly not the joys of NL and the "Black Country vs Worcestershire" derby that we hoped for.
New bloke looked OK, bit of pate poking through suggested that he may not be that new, let's settle for experienced. And that's what we had to do for the first 45, experience rather than enjoy. Perhaps endure.
Maybe Tommy Taylor (a name from the aforementioned 1940s trench) can have a mentoring role to the tyro CBs - certainly he can advise the otherwise i-m-o m-o-m Ryan Wynter against a career in basketball. A dribble that was more Meadowlark Lemon than Lionel Messi in our 18 yarder went unspotted by the much-derided man in black.
We were dragged away from our discussions of football-only words - "expunged", "aplomb" and the lovely "hoodoo" - by action in front of the visiting hoard. Knocked-in, shot, save, maybe rebound, maybe poked. Maybe Wynter has come, maybe an oggy. Who cares. Muted celebrations among my lot but the Shed liked it. Clingage until the break.
HT and at least we were doing better than the diaspora who were having to endure the drudgery on the "excellent" BCR. Jan 6th not much of an Epiphany for at least two exiled Yeltzmen in Spain, where the Three Kings weren't bringing much gold, Frank incensed, and probably myrrh of the same in the second half.
(Don't groan).
Still, we're winning. But STFC were very much in it. Knee deep in it, as the pitch was a bit Somme-ish with only passion(dale) on display.
(Enough now - Ed).
Miracle still very wasn't, and you have to feel for him. Hero to zero-shots-on-target. Whilst his Christmas was (marginally) better than Shane MacGowan's, he's tumbling down the goalscoring charts like (no) Fairytale in New York. Let's hope that he’s back to claiming, "That's My Goal" soon enough. (Shayne Ward, Christmas No 1, 2005. No, me neither).
Like the bloke in front of me on the strawberry vape, we huffed and puffed. Miracle should have, after a bit of Jack magic and a Gregs flick, but no. He definitely should have from the spot but it never looked likely. Haven't seen the YTV yet, but it looked like it lacked lustre.
Some general shufflehouses took the sting out of it, I gave Gregory grief for a miss, with him pretending to have pulled something by way of penance, but then his acting was so good he asked to be subbed. Very method. Daniel Day Lewis to play him in the biopic, "My Left Hamstring".
Hope it's a quick fix as Sim and him look like the option until we can recharge, reinforce or, gulp, replace the Miracle man.
3150, a gate that beat two in Div 2 and one in Div 1, plus an ocean of Yeltz Pale, should boost the coffers if we want a new jobbie in the window.
Leaden footed whoosh back up the M1, eased by listening to a son of a player for both combatants making news, following a less successful earlier showing from another double-servant's offspring. But today's lack of quality would have tested the patience of Jobe.
Back to parking in front of The Edward next week I guess. Not blocking the bus stop, even though it's ours. (For now at least).