Football Blog: Tangerine Flavoured

Tuesday, June 28, 2022

Content to fill a vacuum

Frankly there's fuck all happening. If it was up to me, I'd ban all football media from ten minutes after the last kick of the final game to ten minutes before the first kick of the new season. Nothing is more boring than empty speculation. 

Still, there's content to provide for a content provider. I am a content provider. This is content. I am providing. Are you content 

Fuck knows how we'll do this year. No one has signed anyone and there's literally nothing to say. I could write a list of ten people with arms and legs who we might sign. Might as well make it up. Everyone else does. 

People we could sign: Diana Rigg, Melvyn Capleton, Bill Wyman, Lord Leverhulme, Jensen Button, Dot Cotton, Eric Idle, Harry Style's brother, that lad off the McCain's oven chip advert from the 90s who said "most excellent" or Cameron Brannagan. Who the fuck knows? 

What will the kit be like? It will be tangerine. It will have a badge and a neck hole and some arm holes. It will be a disgusting rip off at 50 quid for a flimsy t-shirt and we'll all accept that cos everyone else does it and that's the way it is. 

Will the new manager be any good? He might be good, bad or indifferent. Opinions will change on a week by week basis and people will probably radge about it like they radge about everything else. 

What will the new manager do? I don't know. Ask him. I don't support Lincoln do I? 

What about other teams? Fuck knows, don't give a fuck about them. 

Frankly, I'm not cut out for this am I?

There's nowt to say cos Wimbledon is on the telly and I really fucking hate Wimbledon. It's sport for people who don't like sport and I hope Timmy loses and posh people and Cliff Richard cry into their strawberries and cream. We can't seem to get organised to show the actual national game on telly, we can't even manage showing Rugby fucking League on telly anymore, but we get this shite every year. Fuck off. Tennis is also the world's shittest game to play. It's way inferior to table tennis or badminton. To be honest, I think it's worse than pretty much any sport ever. Ban it. 

Fuck off Timmy

Close season is close season and pointless shit racket games aside it's great cos you don't have to drag yourself to football games and can do stuff like mooch about aimlessly on Saturday and watch YouTube documentaries on derelict remnants of Victorian engineering wonders (I think that's just me to be fair.) We can live without it for a bit. Change is reet. There's way too much football anyway. It's an endless procession of game after game after game after game, every fucking minute of every day and it's like that so cunts can make money out of it. 

I think the need to constantly guess about shit is something to do with the pernicious and invasive influence of gambling on football. I think the need to measure every little bit of the game and have a stat on it is to do with that too. We have to have some kind of measure of everything, we have to be 'informed,' everything must be analysed even when there's nothing to even analyse. We have to talk about it all the time because it's REALLY IMPORTANT and IT REALLY FUCKING MATTERS and that kind of rhetoric was invented by Sky to try and flog a dying TV service in the 90s. Somehow it feels like a betrayal to just want to turn up and see how it goes and enjoy being there come what may. Everything matters. ALL OF THE TIME... 

We're all just addicts and the close season is methadone. It's an empty buzz. It's a cold high. Humourless empty conjecture from people who know fuck all but talk as if they've mastered secret metrics that guide the game. Vampiric no mark wankers chucking guesswork about and calling it 'insider knowledge'. Clickbait shite. Exclusive new season NFTs. Ridiculous toe curling new signing announcements teased with kooky graphics. People talking about strategies to bend financial fair play rules and balance sheets in a deadly earnest as if it's really fucking interesting way that makes you want to shoot yourself and then do it again just to make sure you are dead and don't have to live on this fucked up world anymore where cunts have even ruined football and we all know who will win is who has got the most money. Wheelbarrows worth of money being spent on average players who will be hyped up like fuck. £20 million quid described as 'a bargain' whilst more and more people can't afford luxuries like electricity. Fucking CEOs and directors of this, that and the other coining it in and pissing themselves cos we lap it up like fucking idiots.

You wouldn't guess it, but I'm really looking forward to Southport on Saturday. I've actually really missed it. I just hope Gaz doesn't choose to play in short shorts like he's been training in. 

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Sunday, June 19, 2022

Forever changes

It's a tangerine. In a sun shape. Cos it's summer. Quality content.

Such a lot has happened. We've covered the shit fake Paul Daniels and his treacherous retreat into the midland shadows so let's move on.

Before we do though, it has to be said that El Cowardly Bodywarmero didn't just chuck heart gestures at us and then run off without so much as a text message, he cost his mates their jobs too. I hope he's sending food parcels to Mike 'he shouts really loud' Garrity and Ian 'how have they found someone even less famous than Mike Garrity and Neil Critchley?' Brunskill.

I'm not that gutted Brunskill has gone, he was only here 5 minutes but I feel sorry for Garrity. All those trips to Macro to get shit for Critch like sweets to shut Jerry up on the coach and Night Nurse to feed Jerry on the coach to shut him up and earplugs to block out Jerry on the coach when neither of the above worked. That notebook he randomly wrote in that him and Critch stared at instead of making subs. The vague air of being a youth worker... All of that doesn't matter. Critch has got a famous mate now to tell what to shout to the players.

Poor Micky G.

Neil? Neil? it's Mike! Neil? Neil?

Big Murphs. Big Murphs. Nothing I can say can do justice to Big Murphs. As a player, he was a stalwart. Not appreciated by all (some people are fools) but it's no coincidence that neither Scott Taylor nor Brett Ormerod ever scored as many as they did alongside Murphs. One of my favourite ever goals was his unlikely 25 yard half volley against Bristol City on the final day of the season just because it was so atypical. A proper big man who could play football and a proper coach who got his youth team performing above expectation and playing lovely free flowing attacking football. Fearless stuff, even when coming up against the best in the country. A true legend. A big Murphs header was equal to a Gary Goal in terms of its purity and wonder. I can't say it clearer than that can I? 

What of the new manager? Everything is black or white. Either Appleton is a dreadful appointment that signals that something is rotten in Denmark or actually, Simon Sadler has made a great appointment and we must never question anything he ever does because he is basically Jesus 2. 

I'm not sure there's enough grey in life.
Neither of those positions really capture how I feel about ol' Micky Big Arms strolling back into town. It's an odd one. My feelings oscillate. I contradict myself. I have to remind myself that in an age of social media, it is still ok to *not be certain* even though you win/lose the popularity contest of twitter and all that sort of thing by having OPINIONS.

In short, I have no fucking idea how this all pans out. He's got experience, he's a different manager (and probably man) to the boring stuff last time - it's probably his one shot at the big time and he speaks well. Of course there are doubts, but Clough (the best manager ever) took the best team in the country at the time on in the 1970s and it turned out to be disaster so nothing is for definite anyway. Frankly, I can't be arsed moaning about what could have been cos the other candidates might have been shite anyway for all we know.

What I do know is the pre season videos have whetted my footballing appetite. We've learned that...

- Jerry is very excited. Very. Very. Excited. All the time. I think David Kerslake might be off to get some herbal calms tablets if Macro have them.
- Chris Maxwell takes exercising very seriously. 
- Oliver Casey can jump very high in the air so that's a thing.
- Gaz loves increasingly cuddly and less crazy Uncle Richard like, properly, it's a deep bromance thing. Srsly
- Also Gaz is really polite. ('Can I have a smaller size please?' with the please properly intoned to suggest that the receiver is empowered enough to say no. Butter would not melt...)
- I think we've all learned we need some content warnings because frankly Gaz and Jerry in their (small) smalls was a bit of a shock. 
- Players just running for a bit and then collapsing as if they're going to be sick is surprisingly good value.
- Richard Keogh reverts from cuddly Uncle Richard to crazy Uncle Richard after a long run. Once round the training pitch and the fella looks like he's outside Tesco shouting at passers by about death rays the FBI have put in the telly. Fucking love him. 

Tangerine TV (adults only)

So much has happened and yet, it's just the same old thing really. Football. Tangerine. I can't wait now. Bring it on. 



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Friday, June 3, 2022

Cheers Critch! (and also fuck off Critch)

Impish little bastard lurking at back of shot. It wasn't a twinkle after all. It was a smirk...

So. He's gone. Walked out the door. He's not turning around, cos he don't need us any more. We've got all our lives to live though, and all our love to give, and we'll grow strong. We'll learn how to get along so go on Critch. Go. Be with Stevie if that's what you want. Take your body warmers with you and shut the door on the way out. Twat. 

The sensible grown up response is to thank him for a pretty fine two years in which he discovered some terrific players, won us promotion and developed a tough side that gave 100% pretty much all the time. To acknowledge that Jerry Yates last year was the sort of striker we hadn't seen in a decade and Bowler this season, the kind of winger you only get to see a few times in your life. Remember the defence in League 1. We were like fucking Arsenal under George Graham...

The churlish (but very tempting) response is to point out that he's a turncoat who plays sideways and backwards football and who never really unlocked the kind of football he talked about with "knock it across the backline and get Grimmy to belt it at Madine" being a mainstay of our style for much of the year.

Objectively, I admired his diligence, his calmness and his pragmatism. Emotionally, he frustrated me at times with his hesitant approach to risk. He rarely played Kaikai where he belonged, he kept Carey at arms length and preferred water carriers to flair players. We were solid first and then, if we got the chance, hit on the break. It was all far more Van Gaal or Mourinho than it was Cruyff.

His results are hard to argue with though. I've always maintained that, certain as I am that I am a football genius, I'm also certain that I'm really not. I'd just have picked all the attackers and we'd get hammered every week. He did a good job whatever we felt about the style and the few times he really didn't get it right (i.e at Deepdale) are far outweighed by the fact we're now looking back on a comfortable season in the Championship. Prizing style over substance irritates me as the preserve of hipsters and Critch won me over by abandoning his textbook and doing what worked. I can't now slate him for that.

He said all the right things. He did the badge stuff. He soaked up the adulation like a little grey haired sponge. You could almost literally see him grow in stature as a manager. When he started here, he looked startled by the camera, he looked frustrated by the players he had not being able to do the plan he'd laid out.

By the time he left, he was a terrier on the touchline, a punchy pugilistic figure who spoke in a calm, assured way and purred about wins at teams like Sheffield United. That's what made him seem special. We could see him develop, he'd signed on for five years. He was going to be different. We'd see him grow with us. We were all on a journey you see.

At least that's the spin we were fed.

It's a sad move as it shows the gap between the two divisions for what it is. A chasm.

It's a strange move because it feels as if that development we've seen in Critchley is now for naught. He's going back to the shadows. It's his old job, just with older players.

It's a move that hurts, because, naive as it is to put your faith in anyone in football, Critch had us singing his name, Critch had us staying after defeats to applaud him and his players. Critch *seemed* to genuinely appreciate what he had and we appreciated that he appreciated it and that is rare.

So. Fuck off Critch. But also. Thanks Critch. But also fuck off Critch. Stevie G? What the fuck has he got (apart from loads of money) that we don't have? But cheers Critch too. Jerry's goal against Pompey. That Oxford away game (twice,) Maxi in the last ten minutes v Sunderland, Wembley, beating Fulham at home. Josh Bowler, PNE at home, Sheff U and Boro away and plenty more.

But the way he left... Yes. I know. Money. Family. We'd all do the same. Blah. Blah. Blah. It's an emotional game though. Who can really spend their time following it and be objective and fair about it all? 

He brought some magic at times. He did his job. He worked hard. He worked very hard. He cared. That is not in doubt. The way he's left still leaves a bad taste though. 

We move on. I hope his successor can show the same dedication to detail but also play with some flair and trust in attack over counter attack. Critch isn't and never was the club. He's just a man who worked there. It turns out, we weren't stuck with him after all and we go on. It's us who are stuck with the club and who knows, this could be the kick up the arse we need. Things had all got quite cosy. It might equally be a disaster.

Any and every appointment will be a gamble. The joy of the game is the uncertainty.

Big Murphs in!


Wednesday, June 1, 2022

That was the year that was: 21/22 Season Review

The other week I was using the facilities in a pub. A drunk scouser accosted me, demanding to know who I supported. 'Blackpool' I said. 'Blackpool? Blackpool? Fucking hell. We're gonna do the quad' he slurred. 'What the fuck have you won this season?' he demanded, a touch of latent aggression evident in the forthright way he jabbed his finger at my chest. 'Hearts and minds' I replied, fixing him with a firm stare. 

"Ha. Nice one mate. Nice one. Nice one" He appeared mollified. He gave me a big drunk hug. He hadn't washed his hands but then, that's the unique bond of football. A drunk scouser can accost you in slightly frightening way in a toilet then touch you with his pissy digits in a show of unsolicited manly affection and that's the beauty of the whole affair summed up in a single image.


Here is my attempt to sum up the last season in a loosely structured and meandering way. You don't not pay me to write short pieces of clickbait so therefore, I've just written a load of shite. It's not quite as long as a book though. (Do you see what I did there... subtle as a brick) 

Overall, it was a good year: Below is a load of things I liked... 

I am nostradamus: I predicted we'd finish 16th. We finished 16th. All in all though, we were a lot more comfortable than I thought we might me. I thought we'd be 10 or 12 points better than relegation, not 25, but then, the teams at the bottom were more shite and were deducted more points than I'd imagined. Still, there were very few teams who made us look daft. 

The noise. The noise. The noise. I don't know if it was the effect of lockdown on top of boycotting on top of the excitement of promotion but rarely has following the Pool felt so fucking good. I love noise. We made loads of noise. I could list lots of games that I really enjoyed, but probably my favourite match of the year was Bournemouth away in the sunshine. Pool blown away. Pool keep singing. Pool roar back and stun the gentile southerners. Pool make more noise. Everyone is happy. Everything is good. Everyone has given everything. I can hardly speak. It's how it should be. 

Keshi Anderson being ridiculous
. I'll freely admit, I didn't really rate Keshi before this season. It is a matter of record that I thought that the one, the only, the singularly magnificent Sullay Kaikai was hard done by and that Keshi had offered much less than him last season but the impudence he played with in the first part of the season was a joy to behold. The golf putt finish against PNE, that mad assist for Lavery, the chop against Sheffield United away that sent us into the kind of rapture that lives long in the heart. Finesse. Innit. 

Josh Bowler being so electric that you could probably rig him up to the national grid and solve the energy crisis. It's not a goal that stands out for me with him, though there were plenty, not least in the outrageous run of form he had after Christmas, where for a few months he was as good as almost any player I can recall in tangerine, but his dribbling in general. If I think of Bowler, the first thing that comes to mind is a mad run he did several times (including against PNE), picking the ball up deep and accelerating steadily before hitting full speed, vaulting challenges like a hurdler on an Olympic track, indie kid hair trailing in his wake, the ball mesmerised and pliant, totally in thrall to his every whim, defenders turned into lumbering prehistoric club wielding neanderthals vainly trying to catch a cheetah in full flight. What a fucking player. Ok, his end product wasn't always there, but if he'd turned every chance he'd created into a goal, the boy would have broken records. My heart will be a little broken on the day he leaves. Sometimes he looked like he was playing a different game.

Marvin being absolutely unphased by the step up to a higher league
. Marvin looking exactly like he did the season before, if not even better than the season before, despite playing against better players. I'd also add Jimmy Husband doing similar to be honest, even if haterz will hate that. But haterz gonna hate. 

Crazy Uncle Richard proving me oh so wrong. I missed the first two games on holiday. When I returned, I discovered that this 'Keogh' character we'd bought  wasa shit Oyston-era-esque past it has been washed up crock whose only skills were pointing, having weird hair, staring at stuff that's only in his mind and looking really sweaty and tired even before kick off. 

Here's what I wrote about him just a few weeks later about after the away game at Middlesbrough (another fucking diamond of an experience) 

I lose myself and then find myself as I realise how loud I'm screaming a guttural cry of joy. I look down and see Crazy Uncle Richard is doing exactly the same. It's as if we're screaming at each other. He's absolutely unbridled. It's pure delight. I fucking love it. The whole team is in front of us and the place has gone mad. What a fucking moment. Keogh to Marvin. Goal. Who needs strikers? 

By this time, I was completely smitten with Trickie Dickie Keogh. How a man can basically not be able to run, but still be fucking brilliant is beyond me. He thinks at whole different level. He's got some kind of Matrix level ability to see the game faster than everyone else and thus, from his view, slow time down and be in the right place at the right time. He loves it. He really, really loves playing football. He's still really good at it. 

Jordan Gabriel. The man never stops.
He plays like he's on overdrive mode all the time. He's at right back. Now he's overlapping. Wait. He's just headed it away in the centre. Now he's picking up the loose ball in midfield. If we had 11 Jordan Gabriels then the pitch would probably have no grass left on it as all of them would be running and sliding on it all the time. I'm not really a man of faith but I might just have a sneaky word with the lad(s?) upstairs about his hamstring over forthcoming seasons. 

Dan Grimshaw's relaxed brilliance - Despite looking like he's fresh from an all nighter where he got so stoned he couldn't feel his own feet or the top of his head and me imagining he's carrying a bong made of an old coke bottle a bit of tinfoil and a grimy plastic bag in his kit bag, Grimmy is a really, really good goalkeeper. I think he might make an England squad one day. He's brilliant at making it look simple. He does very little until he does a lot. He never over elaborates. He's a zen goalkeeper. 

Gary Gaz Maz Goal Machine Madine (of course.)
 C'mon. Own up. Most of you thought he would be a bit part. A last 20 minute player. A sentimental contract extension. A crock. Couldn't be relied on. Etc etc. He wasn't.

He became plan A for the second season in a row. Feeding the little lads was proving a little bit difficult so we wheeled on wor Gaz to win more headers than just about anyone else in football (look it up) and of course, to score *that goal* ... Madine brings it down, Yates... through his legs!!! Madine, a little kiss on the ball, it's glanced home, just inside the post... YESSSSSSSSSSSS! PRESTON GET BATTERED. EVERYWHERE THEY GO!!!! 

The fight we showed. It's a shame we ended the season with a whimper as it really wasn't typical of our play in general. We started a bit shakily but when we hit our groove we knocked other teams off theirs and though we might not always have achieved a full total football style, we rarely could accused of not going toe to toe with the opposition. All I want to see is a team that tries, ideally with a bit of skill within it. We certainly tried and had moments where that was topped off with a bit of brilliance. 

The less good: Stuff I didn't enjoy as much. 

Really shit performances were rare but... Derby away was like drinking a cold cup of tea that had formed a skin on top. Preston away was like drinking rancid milk that had been warmed up slightly, drunk by someone else and then vomited back into a glass that had old fag butts in it. Whatever Critch says about possession and that and however many injuries we had, it was a rare bit of shite from us... I was spared Peterborough by the early kick off but I think my least favourite game (Preston away aside) was Luton at home, where we didn't play especially badly, but it lashed down icy rain, the wind blew around the stands and Luton just scored three times more than us despite not seeming much better than us.

Other games hurt, stung, frustrated but that's football. You aren't going to win every week, sometimes the ball doesn't bounce for you, losing doesn't always have to prompt an inquest and rage - those three were my low points though. 

Injuries in general
and especially Grant Ward getting injured against Bournemouth meant that a) he'd never play for us again, which is a sad thing and b) we really lacked anyone to carry the ball in midfield all season. Kevin Stewart makes glass look positively robust, Matty Virtue was already out. Garbs cut his hair and suddenly became all fragile again... The fact we ended up with Jordan Thorniley... (who Critch palpably doesn't rate but who keeps reappearing anyway because he's the football equivalent of that fucking awful Chumbawumba song or a weeble)... as a pretty key member of the squad after January says it all.  

The midfield is neither brutal nor beautiful: The engine room is energetic. It's honest. It just doesn't have the player who can knit everything together, the play who can spot a pass no one else has seen or make the driving run dragging three players with him. It also lacks the absolute beast who will win every ball or every header. Kenny is fine at what Kenny does, but he's wearing a mantle of 'the best player in midfield' which is not fair. Kev Stewart IS the best player in midfield once or twice every three months or so, which is not enough. I've grown to really like Callum Connolly but he's a player who gives a lot of endeavour and physical effort, a player who will make the other players space and time, but what's the point of that if there isn't the player to take advantage? No midfielders let us down last year, but they all need someone in the squad who can thread, stitch, switch and run. 

Our loan signings weren't up to all that much:
 Dujon was good, weirdly particularly suited to playing out of position at left back but Tyreese John-Jules was less effective than Ben Woodburn which is a bit like saying comparing standing on lego to standing on a plug. The poor lad just couldn't finish. Actually, he also couldn't really stick to a position or tackle. To be fair, he was good at Bournemouth and against Sunderland in the League cup but he looked like a midtable league 1 kid most of the time and that was a shame because we really needed a player in his mould to meld together technical ability with physical presence. Ryan Wintle was decent to be fair, but when we really needed to keep him, he went back. 

It's difficult in some ways because the Elite Player Performance Plan (or 'plan to ensure the richest clubs get the best kids as I wittily term it') and the financial inequity in football means clubs like us find it difficult to protect our best young assets and then get charged an arm and a leg to loan players back to the league where arguably, they should be already playing. I don't really want us to put all our eggs in the loan basket or stop trying to produce players of our own and giving chances to those who are willing to commit to us properly, but it's also frustrating looking at the quality of some of the signings other clubs around us have made. 

The 'we'll see': Stuff I've not made my mind up on for whatever reason. 

Shayne Lavery was mint at times. Bustling, bristling and fighting for everything. At others, he chased vainly and the ball bounced off him at odd angles. Like Jerry, he had a good run of form and then seemed to go through a long spell where nothing really worked. He scored in three successive games twice but only scored 4 more goals outside of those six matches. I've every faith in him - his touch could be slightly more delicate but he makes terrific runs and he's a player that with a bit more quality in midfield 0 someone who can read those runs  could make him a real nuisance week in, week out. 

Talking of Jerry...
Yates has ended the year with the highest number of goal involvements of any of our players, but he looks a bit of a shadow of himself. Where is the sniper from last year? Where are the slaloming runs and little shimmies into space and whip crack shots into the bottom corner? I don't know. I'm sad if that's it for Jerry. He's a delight to watch when he's on form and his touch and vision is tremendous (see Stoke away as the most recent example I can think of) but he just doesn't look confident. I really want him to go again this year and find that strut that he had at his best. Again, we've not really played to his strengths for a lot of the season. Jerry needs the right ball and to work with players running from deep and so on. 

Sonny Carey. I love this kid.
He's so classy - he looks like he's got more time on the ball than other players. He is the one player who looked like he could do what I said above we lacked in the middle of the park. He's calm. He likes a shot. He's got a very good shot. He looks way better than his age and experience would suggest he should be.

My question is - where will we play him? He's to me, the ideal player to link the midfield and attack, but we've already seen that Critchley doesn't really use that sort of player very often. To me, the jury isn't out on his ability, more the question of, how do we harness it? The game he played in central midfield away at Huddersfield was probably our best 45 minutes of the season but he only played there because no one else was remotely fit. Would we really see such a technical player as our coach's go to option? I'm not sure. That half of football was (a bit like the Reading away comeback) a glimpse into how we *could* play if we took the brakes off a little. 

Owen Dale has played a few half hour spells where he's looked terrific.
A good bit of swagger and a lot of intent. He's also played spells where it looks like his main ability is getting the ball, doing two step overs about 3 yards away from a defender then getting tackled. I don't know which is the real him. Charlie Kirk by contrast is steady as you like. He crosses the ball well. He controls the ball well. He passes to someone else and moves into space. I'm not sure if that's enough. I quite like Kirk and I love the fleeting glimpses of the good Owen Dale, but in a world without Bowler and maybe Keshi, they've got a lot to live up to... (presuming we're not too skint to sign Kirk that is...) 

Bit at the end where I say something that sums it up. 

I really enjoyed this season. Football is wonderful and after all the shite of recent years of all kinds, it was magic to follow so many games and to enjoy the highs and lows. I hope we can recreate the kind of atmosphere and the sorts of followings we brought to grounds around the country. I hope we can balance the structural rebuilding of the club with delivering the goods on the pitch. I hope we can buy and sell well and find that little bit more adventure in our play or at very least, recreate the sort of magic that Bowler and Keshi weaved in moments last year. I hope we've got the pricing right in an increasingly expensive world where more and more people are under pressure financially and football looks increasingly grotesque however we think about it. Football clubs are performing a balancing act in a costly world. So  are their core support. 

Next year will be tough but I hope there's a bit of hope that stays alive at least as long as it did this year, a bit of thrills and skills and last minute delight. I'm sure there will be. Cup run, flirting with the playoffs for a bit longer, someone stepping up we didn't expect, someone new to fall in love with, a midfielder who can pull strings, Keogh finally scoring, whatever it is. I hope the pleasure at least equals the pain. It doesn't always of course. That's what makes it what it is. To make sure things are at least bearable, just keep bunging out Gaz, Jimmy and Richard doing 'group chat' and I'm happy. Or just re-sign Sullay Kaikai... 

However it goes next year, it'll be tangerine and that's enough to make it magical. 


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Yet another bad owner. Where do they breed them?

This is Brooks Mileson. He owned Gretna FC. If you don't know who he is or what the score is with Gretna, it might be worth giving it ...