We’re riding along on the crest of a wave and the sun is in the sky. There are chips, chips, as big as battleships in the quartermaster’s stores. And Jesus wants me for a sunbeam along with all of my colleagues in the 4th Goodmayes cub scout pack.
No I didn’t want to join – I was hardly consulted. When you’re eight years of age it’s hard to argue with the establishment. Well, it was in the early 1960s anyway although I’m sure modern children would run to Social Services if they were forced into such a weird organisation via parental coercion.
Join the Cubs and everything will turn out just fine, hey?
I seriously fear I saw the last of our remaining cubs on Saturday. Todd Cantwell has ejected himself from the pack and Emi Buendia will always be a lupo which makes him really rather different.
The cub I refer to is Max, obviously. He played very well again at the weekend but it’s surely time he went for his own good and also his professional aspirations. He deserves better than this $hitstorm.
Against Derby County, nothing turned out just fine. At all. That game had the lot from my standpoint. Everything that is bad about Norwich City, all displayed on the pitch at varying times during the same match.
Before you could put your woggle on your necktie there was the feeling that surely, surely even we could get a result here against a team that had forgotten how to win, Wayne Rooney and Phillip Cocu notwithstanding.
Then the definitive ACN scenario unfolded. Perfectly and so ironically in temporal terms.
We bossed the game for 15 minutes, without having a shot in anger of course. Derby, superbly marshalled by an ageing Curtis Davis, crept back into the game and stiffed us out until half time.
Then seven or eight minutes after the break the most blatant handball you will ever see provided us with a penalty. Up trotted the goat, he fell on his ar$e and the rest is history.
Some joker on the Sky commentary team said that if it had gone into the net it would have had to be retaken because Pukki used both feet to connect with the ball in the first place.
I’m sure that can happen to anybody but I can’t remember the last occasion that it did. Okay, we’ll blame the groundsman. Well you can if you want to, I blame Teemu Pukki.
Then inevitably, half an hour later, Lukas Rupp decides to bring Derby sub Jason Knight down on the edge of the box – in Rooney territory. Not the halfway line, the edge of the box. A magnificent free-kick I freely acknowledge and if Mario Vrancic had done the equivalent I would be praising him to the hilt.
Throw in a couple of terrific saves at the end from David Marshall after the belated introduction of Jordan Hugill and there was only one other incident of note in the entire second half. The compulsory strop from el lupo emerged when he was taken off for Hugill.
We are all signed up to supporting a self-sustaining, self-funding club whether we like it or not.
It ain’t working, so I suspect something to happen over the soon-come international break.
Do I expect Max Aarons, Emi Buendia or [hopefully] Todd Cantwell to be with us at the end of said break?
No I don’t.
But I’m also getting the feeling that Daniel Farke has had enough as well.
And that my friends would be tragic
Gary G said yesterday he was mildly concerned about pitchforks in Carlton Colville. Well in my neck of the City there are a few folks calling for Igor complete with chains and his baying hounds. For Daniel Farke, not MFW writers.
No guys. We have to give the scientist a little bit longer in the castle before we bring the torches out.