All The Promises We’ve Made. From The Cradle To The Grave.
So the X-Factor – thankfully – uses Auto-Tune. Jim Kerr once “promised you a miracle” and that never happened but I never had the urge put electrodes on his nipples for crimes against fashion and music. So,Peter Lawwell, seemingly, promised a Big Name (so BIG his Big Name has to be capitalised) while others know that he didn’t.
The Roadshows fired up the over active imagination of those in our support on line and standing at bus stops. Before the Number 8 bus had arrived to take them to their destination they were whispering of “broken promises”.
I attended one of those Roadshows. I read most of the transcripts from the other Roadshows. Lawwell trumpeted that he would back the manager. 11 players is testament to that statement. He was parped that warning that we could no longer compete financially. The 11 players signed is also testament to that.
Yes, it’s taking me some time to adjust to this. From the boom of the early noughties when we looked like contenders we are now back in the bust period.
A look at the squad list reminds me of the look of most teams squad lists when Murdoch’s money first arrived in Scottish football. Cheap foreign imports mixed with Scottish, British, Irish journey men.
In my more patronising moments I look and compare us to other failing British European Cup Winners Nottingham Forest or a Leeds or Sheffield Wednesday. Clubs that due to mismanagement and a changing financial tundra are now treading water at levels their history and set up’s don’t deserve.
Yes, you can feel the establishment ruffling our hair going “awwww, poor you, it will be ok…” while feasting on Tv money sponsored meat pastries, Cava and ladies of the night.
That fecking annoys. But….
Europe. That auld chestnut which has caused me endless sleepless nights and question the quality that the prefix ‘International player‘ brings. Looking back before UEFA gerrymandered European competition brings it into focus.
Apart from a few good years we have always been Luddites when faced with Europeans and their fancy ways i.e. they actually pass to each other and can run a bit quick especially on the break.
Before Vigo it had been 20 years since we had been in Europe after Santa. Since then we have tasted it 4 times. That was feast, this is famine and the natural conclusion to the cycle.
We might not like but we need to get used to it. I reserve my right to criticise any player that wears the jersey of my club that I have emotional attachment to as not being good enough.
The modern day gulf between us and them means that the feeling they care more about the wing mirror on their sports cars than the club they play for rings true. That is an idiotic feeling but one I cling to.
This emotional attachment means I won’t walk away. Those who proclaim to have had enough after Utrecth and such can contact me and, via paypal, I will pay for their taxi which will take them to Beachy Head where it will fail to stop.
Yes, I’m a glass half empty fellow and I feel that the eternal optimists are living in a world where their tea is served by mermaids with ample breasts but not remembering that supporting a team only guarantees misery, heartache and the feeling of hopelessness and giving up when you get that is a lot, lot worse.