The question most asked this St. Valentine’s Day? Nope, it isn’t ‘why on Earth did you bring me to the Poundsavah cafe again?’ But something much more difficult to answer.
Ah, you guessed right at the second attempt! It is indeed: “who is Wigan Athletic’s primary penalty taker?” So much time has passed since their last (league) spot kick, and so many players have passed through that slender DW turnstile labelled ‘staff only’.
Before tonight, Latics were one of four unfortunate teams not to have been awarded a penalty this Championship campaign. Not even a poxy little pity pen at 4-0 down – refs are obviously too busy writing out cards for Jake Buxton and Dan Burn. Well, you cannot deny they are handsome chaps.
…Uh oh, your small time Internet weblogger has been rumbled! Alright, I promise that’s the last you’ll hear about statistics from I, the self-proclaimed Anti-Statman. Consider this a brief return from statistic retirement to help Wigan win the Auto Windscreens Shield. And I award an invisible Ferrari to the first person that shouts ‘Greenall’.
Vanilla non-surprise
To begin this unusual game of Russian Valentine’s chocolate roulette, both sides chose mild apathy with a muddy fudge centre. This released pheromones that dulled their opponents’ sense of direction, causing many misplaced passes and one slightly misdirected Jon (Whosyer) Dadi Bodvarsson header.
Next out of the box for the hosts was a refrigerated choc blok, the sort of sweet you’re forced to chip small pieces from until it becomes warm enough to chew. Though none of these chunks were particularly satisfying, the biggest was an ill-fated Helder Costa effort that Matty Gilks pocketed with just an ounce of relief.
Latics, meanwhile, were still subdued by the stomach-churning coconut Turkish delight with added mackerel they inadvertently selected. Luckily enough, Wolves’ late first half surge was also hampered by a frankly disgusting chicken doughnut dream – Davey Edwards and Bright Enobakhare’s attempts were scuppered by extreme stomach gurglings just yards from goal.
I apologise for spoiling your supper
…But such lukewarm halves of football can have that effect on the reader of a small time Internet weblog.
In the quest for a heartier snack, Wolves ripped the entire top layer from this two-tiered box o’ pseudo-chocs, rotting sour quince surprise and all. Underneath lay a separate set of exotic ‘treats’… though sadly for the already afflicted, there was no Immodium tablet relief among them.
Each side approached this new half with deserved trepidation, much to the great annoyance of an increasingly irritated assembled audience. Edwards’ off-target header was almost certainly the result of an ultra-apprehensive digestive system.
But thankfully for all concerned, those more palatable chocs began to surface. Enobakhare rolled a sweet walnut whip across a wobbly Gilks’ goalmouth, while Jamie Hanson chopped a fudgy fizzer into a largely vacant box. Er… penalty box, that is.
And soon enough, Edwards returned with the crunchiest of buttery nut chunks, a close-range header of considerable force to split even a triple choc outer shell. However, he did not count on Matty Gilks’ super smooth caramel antidote, a surprisingly magnificent palm round the corner.
I hope your teeth have survived this far
…Because you’ll need a new set after this.
As is customary, the triple creme fondant wafer with quadruple choc coating was waiting for the very end… and in this particular case, it definitely wasn’t anticlimactic.
Crashing clean through 87 minutes of generic so-called chocolates, Jake Buxton climbed to direct Max Power’s corner beyond Carl Ikeme in the hosts’ goal. All remaining sweets were sent scattering across the meadow, booted to all corners of the Molineux greenery by frustrated Wolves.
And as an extra surprise, Gilks rustled around the seemingly empty choc box to nab a previously hidden soft fudge finger. Powered by such a sugary treat, how could he do anything but deflect Connor Ronan’s drifting piledriver to the safety of the advertising hoardings?
Hand that bemittened gentleman his Man of the Match award: a box of Tayto cheese and onion chocolates!
As a parting thought this Valentine’s Day, I offer the following sentiment: Poundsavah’s much maligned cafe is actually a high quality dining establishment. I know because it says so on their Twitter page, albeit in txtspeak with zero punctuation, accompanied by a blurry thumbnail of what appears to be a rotten banana.
So I recommend you eat there if you want to miss a month of work due to food poisoning.
Love ya!
