Backroom Novices

Just a quick note concerning the backroom administrative department at England's newest Premier League phenomena. Over the years, as a supporter of this team I have had many run-in's with the no-marks who run the club. They don't seem to be interested in football or the history of the club, and have little or no interest in prioritisation of ticket sales, but that's a different story.

A nice illustration of this is club spokesman, Matt McCann (Origins: Leicester, club supported: Leicester City) stating the recent 25,004 attendance v Arsenal being a club record. The clubs official website states the record is 27,526 v Hereford United. A prime (if inconsequential) example of the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing and that the head doesn't care.

This mentality pervades through the entire club.Just a small bugbear, but one that annoys the true blues to the bone.

Road to Perdition - Portsmouth v. Wigan Athletic

Well, the truth is, I couldn’t be arsed to drive to Portsmouth as, basically, it’s a long way. I’d always been averse to using the official supporters coach, because on each of my last journeys (Darlington, Grimsby - F.A. Cup, Aston Villa - League Cup, Reading - Play-offs) I’d managed to get stuck sat next to some 40 year old virgin, still living with his mam, talking incessantly about Latics even though we’d just been stuffed (we always get stuffed when I go on the coach). Anyway, the trip down proceeded without a hiccup, apart from listening to Birmingham City v Liverpool on 5 live at about a billion decibels, causing my brain to vibrate, my eyes to roll up into the back of my head, and my throat to issue a gutteral moaning along the lines of “Unnnnnnnnnngh”. On arrival at the ground a couple of swift pints with the locals (who were very friendly, a friendliness not reciprocated by the travelling support with chants of “Going down” and “I sucked your knob and it didn’t taste very nice”), was followed by a professional performance, 2 well worked goals and a 3 point haul.

Ah! I thought, the journey home will be sweet, lots of jollity, and a nice relaxing piss at the services which I’d been holding in since the second pre-match pint. Not so. Upon boarding the coach, it soon became apparent that the on-board DVD player had been hijacked. The screen lit up, not with Wigan Athletic, nor even football nor sport related. Not with a humdinger of a thriller, political espionage nor high intrigue. Neither was it something more relaxed yet still absorbing, such as an Arnie film, which can sometimes be so low brow it’s hobbit-esque. No, this was worse, the screen sprang into life and we were subjected to Police Academy 3. I nearly choked on my croissant.

After suffering Bubba Smith or whatever the fuck his name was, cock up time and time again in the name of hilarity, the screen went dead, much like the brains of a Sun reader. I let out a long, slow, shuddering breath, and fought the urge to sob uncontrollably. I felt like someone who’d witnessed a horrific carnage and emerged alive. It was however, not the end of my ordeal, just as I thought ‘entertainment’ couldn’t become more mundane, the screen lit up again with a 6 episode DVD of Absolutely Fabulous, the most ironically titled programme ever to be inflicted upon the nation. I was seriously considering stabbing myself in the eyeballs as I slipped into a luvvie induced coma.

The coach driver must have considered dumping my limp body by the roadside, but fortunately for him, he never did stop at the services. My bladder gave out and I was awoken by the pleasantly spreading warm sensation of freshly soiled trolleys. I’m never going on the coach again.