I'm still going to eat it. Hey, a pie's a pie to a Wiganer...
Oh, just go ahead and celebrate your little ‘event’! Us Wiganers don’t need such a frivolous thing as British Pie Week to honour our town’s most iconic dish – this side of the River Dougie, *every* day is Pie Day. Yep, there’s Meat ‘n’ Tater Monday, Tikka Tuesday, Pea Whet Wednesday… need I continue?
I’m sure my attitude will change when they officially make BPW (as I am henceforth dubbing it) a national holiday and serve every child a free pie of their own choosing. Personally, kids, I’d plump for the Uncle Joe’s Mint Ball pie. Yes, it’s a real thing, and it’s probably fifty shades of excruciating.
But until then, my dear non-Wiganer, why not help raise pie awareness by supporting the football team affectionately known as The Pies? We have pie milkshake, pie beer, pie burgers, pie flavoured chips, pie cakes, pie pies…
Not that we’re pastry supremacists or anything. But I think I have just proved that the rest of the UK has much to learn from Wigan when it comes to obsessing over pies.
Now, before we commence our scheduled report, please stand for the national anthem of Wigan: Athertonian Pie by George Formby. Wait, no – I didn’t say ‘stand and walk out’…
Ahem. For those still here…
If the opening half hour of Colchester v Wigan were a pie, it would probably be a supermarket brand steak and kidney – rather fetching on the outer packaging (99p!), but somewhat unsatisfying to the tongue. Much like the unmistakably semi-sour scent of cheap onion gravy tends to assault your innocent nosebuds, Latics repeatedly clobbered the Us with grimace-inducing salt and vinegar.
…Oh, sorry, I meant ‘assault and vigour’! I think.
In fact, the first 30 minutes would be the equivalent of 56 Poundsava pastries to match the number of meaty chances manufactured by the indefatigable Wilwheaton Grigg and his fellow Piemen.
Alright, so maybe there were only about 3 real opportunities. But with Yanic Wildschut and Ryan Colclough also cutting through Colchester much as a Wigan brand pie blade slices a piping hot pastry dish, it felt like much more. Think the exact opposite of a typical bag of Melton Mowbrays, which never contains quite enough.
However, it was only when the hosts became so adventurous as to venture from the safety of their foil cases that Latics could savour the flavour with the Count of Cavour. Or Flava Flav, depending on how you pronounce his name (Flarva Flarve?).
Jussi Jaaskelainen had just barely fingertipped George Moncur’s inswinger to safety when Williefog Grigg was serving Wildschut stolen scraps of Colchester pie. In other words, Yanic could party hard in the absence of forward thinking defensive deserters (desserters?), and 1-0 was the inevitable outcome.
The hosts were still in an attacking mood, however, and snatched back what remained of their pilfered meat ‘n’ tater while it was still warm. In other words, Alex Gilbey smacked the ball with so much force that his hanging tongue almost divorced from its throat… and Jussi J only wished he could stop it!
…The ball, not the tongue.
Anyway, it was 1-1 now.
Next up in this sadistic buffet was a hearty helping of Ryan Colclough, who benefited from the enterprise that is Wildschut Ltd. just prior to his thoroughly unperturbed and cool finish. 2-1 Wigan as half time snacks arrived.
But Colchester’s pies must have been magical miraculous-comeback-inducing ones, because… well, you can probably guess what’s to come. And not only because the final score is in the article title.
Elliot Lee’s creamy screamin’ equaliser was every bit as fruity as his team mate’s first. There was not a sniff of budget brand about this particularly custardy pastry treat, a match for anything those so-called superstars of the game could mustard. Wait, I meant ‘muster’!
And I apologise for creating the disgusting mental image of a custard and mustard pie.
But this monumental comeback was complete by the hour mark, when Moncur comfortably converted the penalty he bought with a couple of coupons cut from a certain high end national newspaper. His assailant, Mr. Reece Wabara, retreated to a quiet corner in the hope nobody would notice.
Sub. Andy Kismet on for Sam Morsy.
(Wait, I meant ‘Lucky Kellett’! Oh, that’s not right either…)
Unfortunately, the home side’s spirited ‘pack the six yard box’ strategy could only last so long. Since Latics are surely destined for promotion, the football gods (Andy Liddell, Nathan Ellington and Neill Rimmer) would never allow the unbeaten run to end here at this moment.
It ought to have, though. With regulation time just about exhausted, the ball crept into an incredulous Elliot Parish’s goal via a mess of flailing limbs and Willferrell Grigg’s swinging boot… but by rights, this was Colchester’s game.
If this were FIFA Soccer, someone might have accused the organisers of using cheats. Goals like Colchester’s are ordinarily reserved for those with bigger daily heating bills than most earn in a year. You know, those mansion-dwelling legends of the game that include Lionel Messi, Graziano Pelle and Jason Roberts.
And last minute equalisers like that are only seen in Crimewatch recreations. In fact, I believe Billy ‘Mastertheft’ Grigg is currently holed up in a safe house somewhere outside Euxton until the heat dies down. But don’t tell anyone.
