June 18, 2024
Sausage race

A disgruntled Latics struggle onwards to the finishing tape. (c)Royalbroil

St George Slays the Dragon
Dragon: Oh come now, who said you could bring that pony?

At the Reading game, you might have heard a lone voice from the away end belting out a drunken rendition of ‘can we play you every week?’ Turns out it wasn’t a supporter, but a player known as Sean Morrison – the very same that edged his side ahead with just over ten minutes to play that afternoon. The very same that celebrated his goal in that infamous ‘Gomez Hat Trick Game‘ by eating an imaginary bowl of cereal. Heck, this feat earned him a question in the PWU 2012 Christmas Quiz, and legend has it he even has his own glass in the Brickmaker’s.

Why? Well, Weetabix’s favourite customer recently signed for Cardiff *just* so he could play Wigan Athletic for the second time in a fortnight. Can’t say I blame him, on the evidence of recent results…

And don’t forget Nicky Maynard, who snatched four goals for a certain South Lancs side last season! Hey, tonight’s game was like one of those awkward school reunions, except without the idiot in the corner bragging about how successful his used car business has become. And the weirdo who actually arrives in his old school uniform, soiled shorts included. Surely I can’t be the only one to have experienced that?

Unleash the Maccahound

Accidentally or otherwise, the hosts used up half an hour’s worth of super boost in the first two minutes. John Brayford saw his attempt blocked, and Aron Gunnarsson was only a Carson’s torso away from emulating Charlton and opening the Christmas presents a whole four months early. A holly jolly Carson Claus ho ho hoed as he picked a fresh loosener to get his pure cola blood pumping.

Spying their chance to play themselves out of bad form, a previously defensive Latics unchained the growling McManaman and let him loose among the dragons. He bounded down the wing, overmoist tongue flapping in the wind… until Cardiff’s ominous and possibly illegal electrified fence shocked him into submission.

Destroyed greenhouse
“But boss, there are no glass panels to hit!” “Shurrup and keep throwing.”(c)Richard Croft

But Big(?) Macc would be back, and the half drew to a speedy close with the nefarious visitors throwing stone after stone at Cardiff’s protective greenhouse. They either needed larger, less rubbery bricks or lessons from Dennis the Menace, however, as each effort troubled only the odd passing bird – but as the wayward Emmerson Boyce is only a part time striker, he avoided Uwe’s Alan Sugar-esque firing finger for the time being.

The aforementioned Rosler begrudgingly placed a firm tick in the ‘first half clean sheet’ box. He used a pencil, just in case – an indication of insecurity, perhaps?

Orange flavoured Penguin biscuit time*

Upon resumption of hostilities, it was Wigan’s turn to use some of their allocated KERS – or turbo, if you aren’t a follower of modern Formula One. Nah, I don’t blame you – there aren’t half as many Brylcreemed moustaches and comedy goggles as there used to be.

It was Cardiff that successfully pulled off the daring two-wheeled overtake down at turn no. 53, however. Andy Gray’s fabled Premier League quality emerged from the quagmire, and Wigan’s five man defence was finally breached. Not one of that quintet collected the second ball, allowing none other than Nicky ‘Four Goals For Latics’ Maynard to consummate his rekindled relationship with The Bluebirds. Disgusted, Latics were forced to avert their gaze at once.

Sausage race
A disgruntled Latics struggle onwards to the finishing tape. (c)Royalbroil

Cue a total front line reset – McManaman and Fortune off, Waghorn and Riera on. The result? More misguided attempts, though Waghorn’s first was closer than most. But Latics were at least set to vie for position on the home stretch they call the final ten minutes. A shot at a Commonwealth medal, albeit bronze, lay ahead of them.

In this instance, however, goalmouth brainfreeze was proving as bothersome as any lactic build-up. For all Wigan’s occupation of the final third, laughing keeper David Marshall remained unruffled and unchallenged as time ran ever shorter, and eventually out. Finito, kaput; nothing to show.

As the final whistle blew, a stern-faced Rosler hurriedly scribbled ‘archery target’ on his shopping list, though he also ought to be budgeting for a crash mat as the very bottom is worryingly near. Quick, doctor, fetch me an emergency home game!

Second opinion

*Biscuit reference of the week: check.

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