I’ve got to say, well I haven’t, but I’m going to say it anyway, I was feeling good about this game. Confident even. I very rarely feel confident about a game involving Blues. I’ve learned over the years that a good feeling doesn’t always equate to a good performance. Indeed, I had a great feeling about Peterborough away this season, and that turned out to be a truly awful performance. Nevertheless, getting off the bus in town, I had a bit of a spring in my step. I turned up at the Wellington to wait with Hereford Gary for the door to be opened. We then compared notes and reminiscenced about our trips to Bristol. Daryl landed and I outlined my plan for the Saturday, now that they’ve moved the Buggies game back 24 hours. JK came through the door, as did Steve a few minutes later holding a copy of the excellent publication, Backpage. As a dinosaur, I find the magazine enthralling, and other than any articles on the Vile, read it cover to cover. Even if I buy it to read on the train to a ground hop, I still find myself keeping hold of it until I get home. Usually, I tend to leave a magazine in a pub somewhere, once I’ve read it, but not that mag. As with home games, we talked of the next away game and what trains to be on. I noted down the arrival time, so I could let my Niece know, just to see if she fancied joining us, only she lives in Swansea. Well, more to the point, give her enough advance warning, so she could board everything up and vacate the place to somewhere safer. Several Hull fans had taken over the table in the corner adjacent to us, and I couldn’t help noticing that one had brought her knitting with her. I remarked about it to the rest, and it was agreed that she’d have been one of those at the front near the stage of the guillotine during the French revolution, cackling as another aristo lost their head. We moved on to the Colemore and joined Worcester Pete who was in there. As the season is drawing to a close, we indulged in a bit of summer transfer activity speculation. The general consensus though, was that the season had passed by exceedingly fast. I suppose it has really. I must admit, I’m even wondering how I’m going to fill the close season. It’s not that I get bored, I just slip back to do things I don’t do during the season. Gear myself up for an assault on the next season, and If you’re wondering what I’m going to write about, I’ve plans to dredge up some more memories that I haven’t yet revealed. I’m also saving hard for next season’s season ticket already. I’m proud to say, I’ve managed to accumulate 57p. Ooh, make that 59p, I’ve just found a two pence coin down the side of the chair. That, a wine gum covered in fluff and a piece from a jigsaw puzzle. I don’t even do jigsaw puzzles. The wine gum was an orange one by the way. I’ll be spitting out a hairball later at work, but I wasn’t going to pass up on a wine gum. Back to the transfer speculation. Thing is, it doesn’t matter what we think should happen. It’s down to the muppets that own us. To me, it appears that Lee Bowyer is missing out on transfer funds due to Aitor Karanka being given too much to waste. It seems to be the cycle at Blues. One manager is given substantial funds, they misuse it, then the next poor bloke is given nothing but promises. It’s a vicious circle that leads to managers getting hired and fired at an alarming rate, and far too many for it to be financially healthy, or to be able to build a solid base upon. One that genuine upward progress can be launched from. I’m certainly not suggesting that Karanka shouldn’t have been sacked. Far from it. The bloke should never have been appointed in the first place. I would just like to see Lee Bowyer given the funds he so badly needs to do a good job, but I really don’t think it will happen. Vice versa in fact. I don’t see him getting any funds at all. Different owners, different manager, but I see Lee Bowyer being in the same position as Lee Clark was in, back prior to 2013/14. It will be interesting to see who the fixture Gods will hand us for our last game of next season. 93rd minute equaliser anyone? We moved on to Kilda. I usually like to have a sour in Kilda, but was seduced by a peanut butter stout. I wasn’t disappointed. Spoons was in there, and we were soon to be joined by both Paul and Rich. Pete had met up with a mate of his in there. With the new variant of Covid just starting to take a hold, and with summer in our sights, we talked about how different places around the world have tried to combat it. I’m not going to go back to boring you with my beliefs on the matter, only that they’re different to Rich’s. As the rest moved on and with still some left to drink, I joined Pete and his mate. The talk was of my trainer collection and my routine with them. Personally, I don’t believe 27 pairs of immaculately kept Adidas Originals is ridiculously over extravagant. In fact, I don’t believe it’s enough and will no doubt, add to the collection over the summer. What? So I can’t have an eccentric side to me just because I work in a factory? It’s not like I turn up to work in a suit and tie or anything. I just like to look and feel good when I go and watch football. I left Pete and mate, and headed down to Bob’s. Recently an article in the Birmingham Mail had stated that Roberto, after having only three customers all day, had bemoaned that Brum was full of Carling drinking, Pot Noodle eaters. It had caused a lot of consternation with him hailing from outside the city. Firstly, whether it was words taken out of context or not, with being from the Black Country, it’s not like he was born miles away the other side of the country. In reality, he’s not far wrong with the comments. As real ale drinkers, we do look down our noses at Carling drinkers, and there’s significantly more of them than there are of us. I myself used the drink the fizzy rubbish. How I did, I really don’t understand, but it’s a hindsight kind of thing. There’s a lot of things I used to eat that I don’t anymore, and a lot of things I didn’t used to eat but do now. Thing is, for some, it’s a ‘principle’ thing. It’s alright for a Brummie to say something against Brummies, but not an ‘outsider’. Even if they do only come from a couple of miles away. Personally, I’d have been more bothered about the comments, had Roberto hailed from somewhere a lot further away. Like it or not, Yamyams and Brummies have much more in common than either will care to admit. Hailing from bumpkinland myself, I see and feel myself now as very much a Brummie, yet I cannot wipe out my past. However much I’d like to. Bridgnorth is now just a distant memory and Telford is just a place that served a purpose at the time. As for Birmingham, my ties to the city have always been the strongest, and long before I even managed to settle here too. So anyway, I was first getting to Bob’s, and was asked by the girl behind the bar if the rest were going to join me. When she asked, I honestly didn’t know, but I just blagged it and said yes. Thankfully and luckily, I was joined by a lot of the rest. If nothing else, I didn’t end up looking like ‘Billy no mates’. With the sun out, I sat outside. Not probably the wisest thing to do, as it was still too cold. By the time I walked up to the ground, I was glad to get warm.
To the match. It started 0:0, it finished 0:0.
That’s pretty much all I can put really. That good feeling I’d had before the game, turned out to be nothing but a leftover from Bristol. So the Hull supporter had been right to bring her knitting with her, and I’d only wished I’d brought something to read with me. I traipsed back to the Dog. John had fixed a screen up in the garden so people could watch the England versus Ireland game in the Six nations. By the time I’d found myself somewhere to stand and focused on the score, England were not only 8:0 down, but were a man down too. Why is it we say ‘man’ down if a player is sent off, but never ‘woman’ down? It’s always ‘player’ in female team sport. There’s no policemen and women anymore, only police officers. The world is turning as bland as the game I’d just been to. Another Try for Ireland was my cue to leave.
“Even the elderly lady was dancing”
As I approached my bus stop in Dale End, I saw what was an impromptu group of revellers dancing to a busker. Only in Birmingham do you get this sort of thing. Wasn’t a set up, wasn’t choreographed, just a group of girls intent on having fun and a laugh on a Saturday evening out. It’s the Brummie way. I did take a video that I was hoping to include on here, but the site won’t let me.
I’ve been advised by my team of lawyers to add this disclaimer at the end of this post, any post, just as long as they can disassociate themselves from anything and everything I ever write. It’s not that it’s likely to be libellous or anything like that, it’s just that it’s rubbish and they have reputations to uphold. Apparently, some of their children are even having fun poked out of them at school because of it. Sorry kids, and don’t worry, Daddy and Mummy don’t write any of this garbage. It’s solely down to me.