Melicitations, merry mentlegen! It’s Mid-Table March here at Meshuga Mel’s League One Discount Motors, and do we have the delightfully demented deals for you. [Theme from mid-90s UK TV game show ‘Trivial Pursuit with Tony Slattery’ begins to play.] Can I interest you in this sturdy 1985 Nissan Peterborough? Ah, maybe this weekend, you say?…
“Goals for: 3. Goals against: 8. Points won: 1. Cups ripped from our snotty grasp: 2.” Thus spake Latics’ resident statman, a look of mild disgust steadily encroaching upon his otherwise gentle features. 4-0 malletings in the Ben Watson Memorial Trophy can transform the most optimistic of supporters into miserable mopers in the short space…
Football is an artform – of that, there is no doubt. But I would stop short of classifying it as a fine Renaissance triptych, Beethovenian symphony or even a Hurstian cow sliced clean in half. No, I like to think the sport is much more unconventional, edgy and mischievous – in that sense, it is…
Jonathan Jackson must know a very good carpet fitter because every time I have attempted to lay one, it has taken much longer than a couple of days. In fact, I think I still need to pin down the shag pile behind that cupboard – you know, the one containing the large plastic cup gathering…
“I’ve done it, Grandad,” he said, slamming down the phone receiver. “Done what, Grandson? The transfer window has been closed for five days now.” “I’ve signed Nando’s for Wigan Robin Park! Now we won’t need to re-open that curry shop outside the North Stand.” “Oh! Well, if you think this ‘Nann-doss’ chap is any good…”…
Let’s be brutally honest – Ben Watson probably means nothing to Manchester City fans. Yeah, some might have suffered mildly bruised egos when Sir Benjamin leapt to defeat Joe Hart from 6 yards, but such things quickly became lost among title challenges, superstar signings and breathtaking European nights. …All of which serves to further magnify…
Well, viewers, it’s been a busy week here at the JWAW Transfer Window. Staring at this pane of frosted glass for seven long days, I have just about been able to distinguish the figure of a dog… or maybe it was a horse – I can’t be bothered getting up to move the voile obscuring…
Being a football supporter is ruddy awful. You work 40 hours a week to pay £300+ for the train, ticket, hotel, bus, coach, pie and toilet turnstile just so you can watch 22 blokes with haircuts more expensive than your car fall over delicately, screeching in apparent ‘pain’. And as for goals, you’ll be lucky…
“They’re closing Whelan’s,” garbled my gran, wiping away a small tear. I hadn’t the heart to tell her that Uncle DeeDub sold his discount stores to a well-known high street supermarket way back in 1978. But to her, that shop in the Galleries had always remained Whelan’s – I guess that like a work experience…
Robin Park Shopping Precinct, a wet and chilly January evening. Sparrows huddle for warmth under supermarket eaves as the wheeled metal machines below struggle to wake up. Suddenly from the stony silence, a sharp blast of Krautrock in the vicinity of Stadium Way. Was ist das? Heads swivel 180 degrees as the silhouette of a…
Oh dear, I really do worry for my ailing season card – it has already been washed with my jeans, stuck behind the radiator and buried with the dog’s chew toy. I fear that swiping it through the DW turnstile three times in nine days might cause it to melt into my very hand, leaving…
Is there any sense in making New Year’s resolutions? I have already broken two of mine, namely ‘stop stealing content from the Daily Sport’ and ‘speelcheek evry post’, and it’s only a matter of time before the others are also consigned to the same proverbial trash heap alongside two bin liners of discarded Christmas wrapping…