One more time... A shit preview: the Mighty Vs Cardiff City

Here's the thing. 

You're allowed to dream. To hope. To fantasise. 

In fact, if it was up to me, then dreaming, hoping and fantasising would be a compulsory daily activity. 

Perhaps if it was then the world might shake itself out of the depressing stasis its been stuck in since... Since, well, as as long as I can remember. 

I've digressed already. The point is, we're not down yet and we can win games. You know the drill by now. 

Bowler is the best dribbler in the league, if not one of the best in the country at any level. Poveda is a little spinning top who is made of surly magic. Patino has gold in his boots. Fiorini is a snappy quick witted little street rat. Morgan Rogers is CJ if CJ were really good. Fuck me, we've still got Jerry Yates for fucks sake. 

So, dream a little. Risk it. What's going to happen if you do? You might be disappointed by a football match. So fucking what? Grow up. 

The whole thing is absurd anyway and I've never heard of anything more absurd than going to the game with a fucking face on chatting on about losing to protect your precious feelings. 

You're not a pundit and neither am I. A shitty blog isn't fucking Sky Sports is it? 

You're a fan. A fanatic. We aren't there to disect it and say assonine rubbish like 'on balance Brian, I fancy Cardiff' and 'looking at the heat maps from the last 14 games, I'd give Cardiff the edge'

We're there to watch the game in a one eyed and biased manner. To howl at any injustice, however slight. To back the lads in tangerine as they go up against the world. 

Back them. Back them. Back them. Back them. 

We want risk. We want adventure. We want... 'Attack.... Attack.... Attack.Attack.Attack.'

We can't expect that and sit on our hands or jump down their throats every time they lose the ball. You can't expect them to risk it all on the pitch if we can't even bring ourselves to risk a little hope. You can't expect self belief of we're dismissing them as doomed failures. 

Sing their names. Urge them on. Summon that magic that we know they're capable of. Think of Yates hitting a volley with one foot and then another with the other for a magical brace. Remember Bowler making you almost cry at his ridiculously effortless grace as he slides through yet another defence. Think of Poveda burrowing past a statuesque centre half, changing direction with the bubbling effervescence of the frothing water of a young alpine stream running against the rocks, of Rogers bursting away with his electric pace, of Fiorini knocking a first time pass right where it should be, of Patino going deep to find space and then pivoting and spraying the ball into the perfect place for one of the above to run onto. 

To quote a sage of recent times "they have our dreams at their feet" 

Fucking dream. We don't give in. We don't give up. We don't accept. We believe because we're tangerine and tangerine is magic, it's love and it's blind, unconditional and stupid but it's what we are and what we have. 

Why the fuck not? 

One more time. 

Come on you POOOOOOOOL 

Onwards!