So yeah, did something happen? Like James Perch and Jean Beausejour on Sunday (allegedly), Shortsman is conspicuous by his extended absence, almost as if he has quit or something.
Oh, dear. Owen Coyle was obviously an avid reader of that there JWAW abomination – I, too, would quickly tender my resignation if some Muppet constantly goaded me for my choice of orange soft drink or US doughnut vendor. If you ask me (which you evidently didn’t, but I’m going to bore you anyway), I prefer those home-made ones you can watch them make fresh at Southport beach.
Nope, we aren’t going to drift into food blogging again. Through the haze of managerial uncertainty, it’s easy to forget that football, much like life, goes on without stupid comments about shorts. For the record, Graham Barrow was wearing… oh no, I will not revert to that stock ‘irreverent’ aside!
Quick, move on to the game.
In a less well-publicised change, Lee Nicholls’ tenure as first-choice goalkeeper was brought to an end with the return of Leeds academy graduate Scott Carson. Though Lee is undoubtedly a casualty of Coyle’s overall misfortune, he hasn’t been flawless and three goals conceded is enough to make up any caretaker manager’s mind in a marginal decision. Just thought I’d point that out in case he ends up going away on loan in January, never to be seen in Wigan again. I’m sure that won’t happen, but it’s best to make your feelings known because you never know how long you have left.
Oooh, that was an unusually sombre note for this early Christmas cracker joke of a website! And you have my permission to etch that into my tombstone.
Agh, Roberto Martinez would already have me doing laps across the River Dougie for all this negativity. Best not to dedicate precious virtual paper to dwelling on the game’s opening goal, then, because it came via Ross ‘I Thought He Was Injured’ McCormack just prior to the stroke of 8pm. His boots obviously disappear in a puff of magical dust at 20:00 under the terms of his Fairy Godmother Contract. Except he scored with his head. Damn you, real life, for ruining my fairy story!
Continuing that oh-so-appealing legwear theme, Wigan were mostly pants (snigger) in the first half. The chances eventually came, but Nick Powell and Emmerson Boyce stood accused of that not at all patronising football cliché – they were trying too hard. Now if they were to adopt a casual nonchalance practised by, say, Eric Cantona (cough)…
But the visitors emerged from their half time tea and biscuits an improved side, and 750 resolute ‘Ticsmen rallied to initiate a singing contest. The home faithful won, however, as their side reasserted authority with a series of deadly accurate upfield balls through the increasingly damp evening air. Ahh, feel that rain… reminds you of Wigan!
Home favourite (heheh) Scott Carson further endeared himself to his adoring fans with a Nicholls-esque save to extend the contest that little bit further, but he was only delaying fate. Hope morphed into desperation as Leeds finally took the full control they had been threatening – Ross McCormack borrowed a glass slipper to fire home a 77th minute free kick. Match settled.
Moral of the story: sacking off your manager isn’t always a sure-fire method of quickly extracting the decayed, cavity-ridden wisdom tooth. The pain usually subsides after a couple of weeks, so have another can and try and forget about it. What, you can’t have alcohol because of the antibiotics? Here, have this Irn B… gahh!
This Coyle Krispy Kreme business deserves further examination. Meet me back here in the laboratory (it’s round the back of the shed, behind last year’s decomposing Christmas tree) for some experimentation and pseudo-intellectual discussion. But before that, we’ll have another episode of the podcast that seems so popular. Take a deep breath, guys.