I can't claim to have originated the 4-4-2 stat that's been doing the rounds, but I will point out that on Sunday I posted a detailed (actually, really fucking boring piece of the type I'd deride some smartarse stats ragmag like the Athletic for publishing) analysis of the shortcomings of our attacking approach. Within this, I unearthed the fact that we really don't dribble very much at all, even compared to Larry's globetrotter style, non stop fun bus entertainment dream machine of a team last year.
Imagine my delight therefore at seeing Demi in the starting line up! If I was being uncharitable, I'd describe him as 'headless Demi' given his general habit of getting the ball and just legging it somewhere with it (or without it) but I'm not that sort of blogger. Demi is excitement. Demi is a little frisson of something, a ripple of optimistic chat round the stands, a burst of electricity on a cold and dark evening. So, c'mon Demi. Run like the fucking wind. Run at them, run round them, run up blind alleys and into traffic, run beyond them, over them, under them, straight through them. Just fucking run lad. Be yourself and enjoy it.
Grant Ward comes in too. Now don't get me wrong, I like the idea of Kevin Stewart but Dougall and Stewart together is a bit like having a main course and a main course on a night out. Ward is a bit of contrast, perhaps a tasty, zesty fresh citrus dessert to Dougall's steak main. More relevantly (cue boring stat again - did I tell you I wrote a proper piece this week yet?) our Grant is one of the few players in the midfield where there's clear evidence from his past endeavours at other clubs that there's more creativity in him than he's currently demonstrated.
Also back is Ellis Simms. Now, I think, to get the best out of this lad he needs to play with wor Gaz but that's basically true of all footballers. Everything and everyone is better with Gary but with the goal machine out, I'm very happy to see Simms start up front and even happier that poor Jerry won't be lonely tonight.
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| The team coach (circa mid Jan 2020). Larry not pictured |
Imagine my delight therefore at seeing Demi in the starting line up! If I was being uncharitable, I'd describe him as 'headless Demi' given his general habit of getting the ball and just legging it somewhere with it (or without it) but I'm not that sort of blogger. Demi is excitement. Demi is a little frisson of something, a ripple of optimistic chat round the stands, a burst of electricity on a cold and dark evening. So, c'mon Demi. Run like the fucking wind. Run at them, run round them, run up blind alleys and into traffic, run beyond them, over them, under them, straight through them. Just fucking run lad. Be yourself and enjoy it.
Grant Ward comes in too. Now don't get me wrong, I like the idea of Kevin Stewart but Dougall and Stewart together is a bit like having a main course and a main course on a night out. Ward is a bit of contrast, perhaps a tasty, zesty fresh citrus dessert to Dougall's steak main. More relevantly (cue boring stat again - did I tell you I wrote a proper piece this week yet?) our Grant is one of the few players in the midfield where there's clear evidence from his past endeavours at other clubs that there's more creativity in him than he's currently demonstrated.
Also back is Ellis Simms. Now, I think, to get the best out of this lad he needs to play with wor Gaz but that's basically true of all footballers. Everything and everyone is better with Gary but with the goal machine out, I'm very happy to see Simms start up front and even happier that poor Jerry won't be lonely tonight.
The Cure - The Weedy Burton
Apparently Burton had some games off then nipped out to buy Messi, Ronaldo and Pele whilst they were supposed to be poorly but I can't be arsed analysing all that. Get at them, get into them. Who gives a fuck who is playing for them? We're the Mighty and we're far more than pissing about worrying about the opposition. Nothing can stop us. Nothing.
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I switch on and there's a ranty looking Jimmy Floyd Hasslebank looking like that mate you've not seen for 20 years whose facebook profile always makes you baulk cos he's aged less than gracefully. There's also a whole load of fellas with forks, Critch with an expression that says 'shit's gonna happen but I'm not chuffed' and a ref tarting about tapping his foot on the grass like he's discovered a minefield and is curious about everyone's opinion about how best to diffuse it.
Then there's a load of on point 2021 fist bumping, the ref holds his arms out as if to say 'I had no choice' and everyone disappears apart from the fellas with the forks who if anything, seem to have bred and multiplied. Excitingly, Mike 'what does he do?' Garrity comes out and joins the blokes and helpfully puts his hands on his hips for a bit. He points sometimes. He bobs up and down behind Colin and now we've learned he does a good teapot.
There's a few minutes of fork prodding and bafflement then it emerges that the game is off.
Fuck my life. It's -1 not -30 for fucks sake.
What the fuck am I going to do now? Hoover? Stare at a wall? Watch Holby City backwards really slowly so the sound is all warped whilst crying at the futility and banality of everything?
Fuck my life. It's -1 not -30 for fucks sake.
What the fuck am I going to do now? Hoover? Stare at a wall? Watch Holby City backwards really slowly so the sound is all warped whilst crying at the futility and banality of everything?
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| Russians not being melts from a shitty non league brewery town: Snow (tick) Orange ball (tick) Sliding tackles (tick) |
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