“You will not survive (Bolton).” (c)Ms Sara Kelly
What’s this, eh? I thought the only Friday in professional football was Lillestrom’s Nigerian striker Fred Friday, but apparently this most revered of pre-weekend days hosts matches now. Hmm, let me consult the archives…
Aha! My resident expert tells me Latics lost to Oldham in what was previously Lancashire’s biggest fixture on Friday 7 January 2000, but complications brought about by the Millennium Bug meant any record of such a game was erased from the JWAW stat computer. Which, incidentally, is a 1993 Amstrad Penpad with 24k memory and a whopping 3-year calendar. Take that, Jamie Carragher!
The sad truth is that nothing else has ever happened on a Friday, in football or elsewhere, since everybody wanders around in a ‘tomorrow’s Saturday’ daze. A quick glance at the newswires confirms that BSkyB still haven’t apologised for waking me from my work week trance a whole 19 hours early. Meh, I’ll send you a telegram if anything appears on teletext.
Nope, it still says ‘page loading’.
Can’t wait until the FA adopt those new goalpost configurations… (c)David Hawgood
The energetic Callum McManaman appeared suitably refreshed, as he had the Macron on lockdown in the opening fifteen minutes. Not content with teeing up a misdirecting Maloney, he proceeded to test Lonergan’s crossbar for sturdiness before trampling a few Trotters trotters. Classic Mac, classic derby tactics.
But the hosts soon eased themselves back into a tough-tacklin’ and pacey passin’ opening half. Scott ‘Eternally Movember’ Carson was rudely forced to drop his Guardian puzzle page when Max Clayton smacked a right footer into the (shaved) Beardmeister’s right glove. I wonder if he ever did complete that crossword?
The home side were closing out the half much the stronger, even if 94% of their efforts ended in a chargedown from one of 11 Wigan defenders. But Macca still wasn’t convinced about that Bolton woodwork (metalwork? Plasticwork? Papier machework?) and decided to give it one last ballcheck before Frankfurter sandwich time. A richly earned first-half man of the match prize of a complimentary polishing was awarded to the Trotters goal frame.
An increasingly avaricious Bolton were growing tired of Scott Carson, who resembled a cheesy Wotsit in his chortleworthy luminous orange kit. Max Clayton’s sweet (savoury?) revenge was imminent, Carse’s golden brown arches soon to be breached in one of those ‘close yer legs’ moments every keeper dreads reading about in the Sunday papers. Or Saturday papers, in this case.
With the self-destruction sequence initiated, Latics decided it may have been wise to vacate Horwich in time for Friday Night With Jonathan Ross. On a VHS repeat with teletext subtitles, of course. But since no Wigan defenders were present to witness Craig Davies head comfortably home for a thoroughly deserved second, any lingering hope of Championship points was terminated sooner than that biker bloke who badmouthed Jahn Cannah.
Rosler literally melts down to his endoskeleton following Bolton’s second. (c)Stephen Bowler
“A Bolton third? Go on, then,” said wrestlemaniac and penalty collector Leon Barnett. As an added bonus, he received another yellow card and a coolly-taken Chung-yong Lee spot kick for his very busy album, as well as a carpet bag and portable colour television with remote. 11 minutes + three goals = total Bolton domination and a meltdown to feed Twitterland until way after the Christmas holidays. Whatever you do, don’t click this link.
As desperation and frustration transformed eleven Latics defenders into 11 (well, 10-and-a-half) attackers, McManaman finally had his goal. For the little that it’s worth, this was the best of the night and might possibly squeeze onto Soccer AM’s goals of the week compilation, if indeed they still have such a segment in between the scripted mild innuendo and z-list guests that I couldn’t get for this site. Grumble grumble.
Yuu ahh tahhmindated, yagh.
So yeah, I’m still hoping this evening was one of those Friday dazes and I shall wake up tomorrow in anticipation of the actual fixture, to be preceded by the annual Wigan to Bolton charity walk that raises thousands upon thousands for local causes. After all, it would genuinely be something of a nightmare for said organisations if this game were really brought forward to Friday night for the benefit of a television camera.
Uh oh, I was in danger of making a serious point there… quick, back to the silly Terminator references!
Anyway, I’ll sit here and hit the teletext refresh button until something relevant appears. If it does, I’ll post you details third class so you receive it when David Moyes is the new manager of Wigan Athletic. As for when, if ever, that will transpire, I do not wish to disclose.