A rare promo photo of Bruce Forsyth from his Buddy Holly phase.
*Alcohol-fuelled studio audience applauds wildly*
“And the final contestant to play our first game is… Marc-Antoine Fortune! Come on down and join fellow contestants Leon Barnett and Nouha Dicko for our big money ‘Guess My Transfer Fee’ Round!”
OK, this is where I switch off the television, because that is one show I don’t want to be caught syndicating on JWAW TV. I have no idea who won that particular episode, but seeing as it was recorded over a year ago, they’ve probably spent their prize money on twelve months of pre-match supermarket pies since. Hey, don’t knock ’em – they’ll allow you to spend half time watching football curling rather than queuing well into the concourse toilets.
But the Wheel of Fortune turned in favour of a certain French striker when Uwe’s squad rotation merry-go-round rolled into Molyneux Car Park shortly before ball-booting time this afternoon. As this crazy carousel had come to an entirely logical halt (as opposed to Holt), 700 travelling Latics punters would be spared another erratic, vomit-inducing ride… or so they would have thought.
Ceefax Goals of the Month
Despite barely having time to equip their wolf bite sleeves, the visitors could celebrate a one-place jump to 20th in the as-it-stood league table as early as the 12th minute – Birmingham were already a goal down at Charlton. Yes indeed, dear JWAWers, this may be 2014, but it is impossible to completely extract the old teletext mentality from those exposed to its wisdom, especially during these ‘away weeks’. And it wasn’t as if the contest itself was anything other than a Ceefax affair in the opening half an hour.
However, one refresh of the videprinter had certain matchday pundits moistening their 1986 CRT monitor with spittle-diluted mocha… well, maybe not, since certain pay TV stations barely have the workforce to cover a programme of Premier League fixtures, or indeed a hot beverage machine.
Two minutes, or approximately one rotation of a teletext magazine, separated surprise goals from David Edwards and James Perch. The former’s header came amidst a defensive brainfreeze that sent fragments of Ramis and Barnett’s Lego brick wall flying hazardously into the terraces, while the latter’s response saw the welcome return of set piece success. To be honest, a Wigan goal of any kind would have been regarded as nothing other than an accomplishment at this point.
And the BBC’s in-vision match updates service would unsurprisingly suffer complete meltdown thanks to another Latics goal (!!!!) from an even more surprising source – the striker. A Plinko chip came to rest in the basket marked ‘jackpot’ for Bruce Forsyth’s favourite contestant, and much-maligned Marco justified his selection to win the trip of a lifetime… back to his own half. Hundreds of stunned spectators stood jaw-to-boot for the duration of the half time break.
Now, Marc-Antoine, this next question’s for the teletext colour TV
You know, I actually agree with certain TV pundits for once – goals *do* often make for more engaging contests. With the hosts now employing a rugby league ‘Trojan horse’ formation, a leveller was increasingly likely, and when Bakary Sako netted from waaay outside the area on 64, nobody was too shocked.
Wolves were on an almost unstoppable victory charge which only one McMana-man could stop – this was a job for Super Sub… Andy Delort.
In fact, the collective Latics Justice League was hastily climbing into its less-than-flattering figure-hugging lycra. Scott Carson elevated himself to superhero status (but not with the home fans) with a Spiderman-style save from Edwards just as The Boy Wonder Callum was adjusting his cape in front of the dugout. Übermensch Rosler had it cleverly planned all along.
But in true supervillain fashion, the hosts’ relentless pressure continued unabated. They struck the crossbar once more as Wigan made effective use of every one of their eleven defenders… and a quickly reconstructed Duplo fort just outside Carson’s penalty area. Extra protection afforded by the double-sized bricks proved just enough to prevent further breeches, and a very welcome Championship point was soon safe in the security of Uwe’s wallet. Since it only remained for him to get home without being mugged, three bodyguards were stationed inside the team coach just in case someone from the FA decided to ‘take it back’.
Now to take this momentum into next week’s ga- wait a minute, isn’t the international break approaching? Oooh, I’ll be in Barbados if you need me.
You piece of low life cheating scum, that ***** manager needs a good ******* kicking.
And you owner needs his ****** knock broke to match his leg, pity our Norman wasn’t around.
Good evening, sir! I’ll let this comment stay, but it will have to be censored in case some poor onlooker moistens their own monitor in shock.
Hmm, I don’t want to seem ignorant, but who’s Norman?
I believe my less than complimentary fellow fan is talking about the 1960 cup final where Norman Deeley broke Dave Whelans leg. Back to today poor defending let us down badly and despite late pressure from us. A draw was a fair result, glad you offered Delort more in wages too.
Heheh, thank you for pointing that out! See, Mr Whelan goes very shy when the incident is mentioned. He is loathed to point out that he broke his leg in that match. I should have known what Mr Daviea was referring to, but couldn’t get Norman Wisdom out of my head.
On Delort, I believe Fortune will have ousted him from the first team now. Says a lot in itself really… 😉
Yeah an ex Baggie never good