It’s been a grand few days to be a Sevco fan. Ignore your clubs financial plight. Ignore the unedifying scramble through the Bargain Bin for a manager who won’t cost you money. Ignore the utter shambles that passes for leadership inside your walls. Ignore the precarious league position; sitting in fourth, but with every chance of dropping further.
Ignore it all. Enjoy the spectacle of a game in which you had nothing at stake, and in a competition where your rivals will bag millions of pounds regardless. You had what passes for a good week, sort of, if you count the fact that it did nothing for you and distracted you from the complete disaster unfolding inside your own walls.
There is nothing to beat them.
They continue to amaze me.
The legendry French “New Wave” director, Claude Chabrol, once said “Stupidity is infinitely more fascinating that intelligence. Intelligence has its limits while stupidity has none.”
I always liked that; it sums up the Sevconuts so perfectly he could have been looking into the future at them.
Well, tonight reality came home to them like a hunter clubbing a seal. All the joy went out of them like piss down a trouser leg. Sevconuts, are you laughing now? The answer is a resounding no. The full measure of their plight has finally dawned on them.
The totality of the crisis is not limited to what happens on the park, but on the park it has become undeniable. They are reeking, like a fish someone left under a radiator for a week. Their playing strategy – which someone on our Facebook page summed up tonight as “blooter the baw and hope for the best” – is enough to make your eyeballs bleed. If this was the global standard of football people would be watching tiddlywinks in record numbers.
The score-line tonight flattered them. Their goal was scored by Windass, who McCoist summed up by praising the good game he had in the first match of the season; talk about damning with faint praise. It’s like your date dumping you and telling you that at least you got her home in time for the Coronation Street Omnibus starting on UK Gold.
This is the level of encouragement their media pals can muster for their football. The shame of it must be acute, especially for people who slobbered over their summer signings like a dog being served top sirloin after a week of Tesco chum. Not a one of them looks worth a damn; Morelos was hilariously bad before he went off with an injury. His value is dropping quicker than shares in the Weinstein Company. £10 million, anyone?
Yes, Sevconuts … are you laughing now?
One of their fans, on one of their forums, was lamenting the display at half time, and comparing it unfavourably with the PSG match in midweek, as if he was expecting similarly stylish football from the teams fourth and last in the SPL. But based on what he watched in the second half, he will look back on it now like sugar-coated sweetness.
Tonight his club has been harshly reminded what its level is.
That was the bottom club in the league tonight.
Let me say that again. That was the bottom club in the league.
Their fans face a long trip home, but no longer or more painful than this season has been and which the next few promise to be. The pain is just starting. If a week is a long time in politics, what a sweep of emotion they’ve endured in just two days.
The highlight of their stinking season was Wednesday and a win for a team with no connection to them in a tournament they’ll never take part in is as good as it’s going to get.
Sevconuts, are you laughing now?