Whatever happened to the heroes?
Whatever happened to the heroes?
No more heroes any more
No more heroes any more
Now I’m not daft enough to go on about Trotsky, Lenin and ice picks and my recreational habits are much more conventional (I would imagine) than those of Hugh Cornwell of The Stranglers. But he could have written that chorus specifically for City as we stand today.
Where are our heroes? I ask you again, where are they?
We once had Flecky, Gunny, Chippy Crook, Disco Dale and Foxy. Another generation enjoyed watching Iwan, Malky, Flem (there’s only one F in Fleming), Adam Drury and the legend that is Hucks. Plus Paul McVeigh – probably blessed with the best NCFC song of all time. No need for me to reprise “We love you…” here – we all know it so well.
The Paul Lambert era sprinkled us with stardust. Holty was more celebrated than The Great American Songbook. Even the lesser lights had their own songs. Just a few that I can remember:
“Fraser Forster one more year, one more year. Fraser Forster one more year – stay at Norwich”
“The Norfolk Cafu” – from the days when he used to do his stuff bombing on down the right flank – Russell Martin.
“You’ll never beat Marc Tierney”
“Simon Lappin King of Spain”
“Willy Willy whippet on the wing” – Elliott Bennett.
Players such as Andrew Crofts, Jens Bertel-Askou and Tiny Ward were celebrated and lauded too.
Even Ollie Johnson (two goals against Southend in the last five minutes of that single match and bugger all afterwards) and Anthony MacNamee were praised to the skies.
“MacNamee, MacNamee, he looks f***ing good to me.” He scored once, against Stockport as I remember.
And the season after that Javier Garrido:
“He likes to eat paella and now he is a Yella.”
Seb Bassong and Kei Kamara doing that famous jig after one of them scored against I cannot remember who (Everton? – Ed).
Wesley, Chrissy Martin, John Ruddy, they all had their own chants.
Which current player has his own song? Tom Trybull? Don’t make me laugh. CamJam and Wes? Maybe, but we don’t hear those expressions of adulation any more.
Against the Tykes on Saturday we couldn’t even muster On the Ball City.
Our lot in the Upper Barclay tend to join in after the first line. We let “Kick it off, throw it in, have a little scrimmage”, pass and then chip in to add some extra volume at the right time. There was nothing to join in with. Nothing at all. First time in many years.
There were quite a few empty seats dotted around the ground, the atmosphere was the worst I can remember in many seasons and I’m sorry to say it’s surely only going to get worse.
Daniel Farke can say what he likes of course, but many of the 1,400+ Yellows who went to the City Ground were not exactly enraptured by all accounts.
Can you imagine what it’s going to be like when we have an £8,000 a week wage cap? Apparently it’s coming, so there will likely be no renewals for those such as Klose, Pritchard and Tettey.
Stuart Webber will be on his Raleigh Racer straight out of town at some point. He’s naturally ambitious and when he goes, fair play to him. I doubt he signed up to see the gruesome reality of this situation through. And where will that leave the rest of us?
Up that famous creek that rhymes with “hit”, I’d say.
Heroes? We’ll be lucky to have players we can tolerate at this rate.
I watched Callum Wilson score an excellent hat-trick for Bournemouth on MotD (you know, some fool chose Lewis Grabban instead), Martin Olsson playing well in admittedly a poor Swansea side and John Ruddy and Ryan Bennett both cutting it for Wolves. Jeez.
Andrew Surman was strutting his stuff for Bournemouth. Even Cody McDonald scored for somebody. Meanwhile Shrewsbury’s gain is our loss. The way Paul Hurst is going they’ll overtake us in 12 months despite their 5,000 gates at this rate. Carlton and Ben aren’t doing so badly for them, now are they? And where are they? Not here.
Somebody commented very recently about one or two of the writers on MFW being “happy clappers”. It’s not a description that applies to me so that’s probably why I’m not particularly offended by the terminology. But if those writers still have faith in what they believe in, good luck to them – it’s what it’s all about. Diversity and debate. It’s what we’re here for.
I am still prepared to give the Webber-Farke project more time, but I just wish that our majority shareholders would take a good, hard (as in granite) look at themselves, do the decent thing and proactively seek some outside investment for NCFC.
Even if the old twister control on the yellow and green trainset might have to be passed into somebody else’s hand on occasions. Anybody who has had children or even family pets would automatically understand what I’m on about: If you love somebody or something with a passion, please do not be afraid to share your love. Even if you can no longer directly control what happens after that sharing.
Despite my initial positive thoughts concerning him, Tom Smith is shaping up as a hybrid of The Invisible Man and The Ghost. He can hardly be anything else with Auntie still at the helm. He is not, and never will be, the answer. Of that I am utterly, regrettably convinced.
Why can’t one or two of those at the very top of the tree infiltrate football’s modern world before NCFC sinks without trace?
Because as of 0600 Wednesday morning, the Championship table paints a pretty grim picture.
This is the modern world that I’ve learned about
This is the modern world
We don’t need no one to tell us what’s right or wrong
This is the modern world. (Paul Weller/The Jam)