Nightmare disorder is referred to by doctors as a parasomnia – a type of sleep disorder that involves undesirable experiences that occur while you’re falling asleep, during sleep or when you’re waking up. Nightmares usually occur during the stage of sleep known as rapid eye movement (REM).***
But nowhere is there any mention of it being possible to suffer from the damn things in the full wakefulness of day or evening. At the very epicentre of Friday’s waking nightmare in TS3 were some 600 hardy Norwich City-supporting souls who battled their way along the A47, A17, A1 and A19 [an unforgiving journey I know all too well] to the Riverside Stadium, home of Middlesbrough FC, on Friday night.
It came down in stair rods and there were reports of some official coaches taking almost seven hours to do the journey from Yarmouth and well over five from Carrow Road. The pitch, fortunately, was in excellent condition and thus able to resist the surface water sufficiently to avoid a repeat of the incident at Rotherham last month when a veritable tsunami hit the pitch and the game was called off just after the break with opponents Cardiff 1-0 up. Much to the despair of half of the Welsh football world a replay was ordered – from the kick-off, the score 0-0.
After a bright start, a Norwich side with a Kon-Tiki style defence lashed together with a wing and a prayer quickly found itself 3-0 down. Josh Sargent reduced the arrears to 3-1 just before the break with a solo effort to score his first goal in aeons and just as everybody was taking a breath and thinking what Wagner might do at halftime there came the killer fourth goal courtesy of Boro’s Cameron Archer.
Since I have been unable to go to matches this season I have enthusiastically joined in following the match in the good company of the posse, and Friday night’s interchanges had the lot, from reaction [negative] to the team selection, through the “it had to be him, the little $hit” when Dean Smith’s lovechild Aaron Ramsey scored the opener and a total sense of vexation regarding the clinical close-range dissection of our defence by a pretty decent Boro outfit.
Halftime led to what I thought were unpredictable – and uncoordinated – reactions from the quartet of old stagers that constitutes ourselves
- Cutty relegated his NCFC cap to gardening duty and banished the rest of his City paraphernalia to the back of the wardrobe.
- Alex B made a trip to his local Mecca to collect his wife, who had won bugger all at Bingo. Bad vibes on the journey back?
- Bernie Owen channelled his inner Stuart Webber and set off on an expedition to the kitchen to make an early start on the washing up.
- Having had a pretty poor day all-round, I quite appropriately opted for a cowardly 9pm journey up the wooden hill to bed.
Yesterday’s fall-out highlighted the revelation that half the outfield on the bench hadn’t previously seen match action on a football field this year. I was also slightly surprised at waking to find Sam Seaman’s snap ratings in the Pink Un offering Andrew Omobamidele a 3 and Adam Idah a 6. I can only presume that by ostensibly contributing nothing, Idah did nothing wrong, hence his rating!
“I’ve no Ideah” has become a slightly cruel catchphrase adopted among the four of us over the last week or so. Cruel but fair? I’m afraid to say I think so.
How will we approach a reset/rebuild under the circumstances we have all [myself and the posse are very much the microcosm here] been bemoaning for weeks, months, the entire wretched season for many of us?
I have no answers at present, and nor do those dwelling in Blackpool, Brundall or Wivenhoe. Maybe you good MFW readers do – as ever, don’t hold back with them particularly if any of you have anything positive to proffer as that task defeated Gary yesterday and myself today. I can’t speak for Gary but maybe I didn’t try hard enough?
Any supporter could have said this but these happen to be the words of David Wagner:
“Very disappointing. I think we made some, or a lot, of horrendous mistakes. In front of both goals. We had some great opportunities at 0-0 and when we were 1-0 down, we have to use them. Goals change games, as we have seen. We concede the second one when Sam McCallum is out of the game, and to be totally honest we lost our heads. We made a quick free-kick where we shouldn’t do it, we made a quick throw-in, where we shouldn’t do it, and concede two further goals.
“This is what disappoints me a lot. You cannot do individual mistakes as we have done, but if you do, you have to show calmness and stay in the game. This is what we haven’t done. And why we conceded a heavy defeat.”
How about a shout-out for the travelling fans then David?
“It was great they were here. But we gave them nothing to cheer about. This makes it even more disappointing that they made this long journey and we gave them nothing to cheer.”
Some gestures can be perceived as empty, but I reckon this could be the ideal opportunity to reimburse the 600 their ticket money and travelling costs.
At least most of the original 600 in Tennyson’s sanitised version of The Charge of the Light Brigade [I’d love to know Wilfred Owen’s take on that arrogant piece of Crimean War foolishness that inadvertently helped create the Blackadder character General Melchett] went out in a blaze of ill-informed glory.
Our travelling folks merely witnessed a season-defining surrender on the banks of the Steel River but I reckon compo is in order, especially to the poor soul who complained on social media that he saw a rubbish performance and consumed a rogue burger that gave him heartburn all the way home. 🙂
*** Returning to the theme of nightmares, REM are by no means my favourite band but on this occasion are most appropriate to play us out: