Ah, the New Year – a time to hit the scales, stockpile unopened bank statements, go easy on the grog and not look at another turkey butt for eleven months. It’s also a time for resolutions, planning one’s goals and targets for the year, hopes and dreams that are bound to never come true; my fingers are currently crossed for a lottery win, a speedboat and a pet tiger - aim high.
Well, now that’s covered – what about the bad habits? Now, let me see – I drink too much, I smoke too much and I support a shit football team. All of which I have no desire to give up. It wasn’t always this way of course, five years ago I still drank too much, smoked a little less and supported a decent football team in Europe.
Ten years ago it was much the same, and seventeen years ago – seventeen you ask? Okay I know it doesn’t really correlate with the previous five year time shifts, but I didn’t put that much thought into this, it’s January for Samba’s sake - give me a break. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, seventeen years ago, I only drank cider on weekends, albeit in parks and playgrounds, didn’t smoke at all, well apart from that one time when I was sick on my Kickers, and I supported the best team in the land, the Champions in waiting, the pride of the nation, the king of kings, the premier of the Premiership, alright, alright - and the point to all this? There is no point, but like all Rovers fans, I just like to point that fact out every now and again.
Anyway, back to the present – the shit football team. Well, we are aren’t we? Shock draws and wins at Anfield and Old Trafford respectively, did little to dispel that theory, we simply benefitted from the opposition failing to turn up and we still did our best to bugger it up. It was the three home games over the festive period that ultimately defined us, home losses to West Brom, Bolton and Stoke – becoming masters of the 2-1 home reverse; making an art out of giving the away team a goal or two start.
The straws have long been clutched for Steve Kean’s tenure – a better style of play used to be my favourite, but that went out of the window a long time ego. We’re now back to where we were with the glutinous one, only without the clean sheets, without the solid home form and halfway down the league table, the end of the line in fact, rock bloody bottom.
Thus, and I knew there was a point here somewhere, back to my New Year’s Resolution – put simply, it’s to stop caring so much, to stop putting my hopes and energies into thinking we might actually get a result at the weekend, to tighten my wallet and stop wasting my time on fruitless away trips, eating up my weekend and putting me in a foul mood for the rest of the week. I didn’t go to Anfield, or Old Trafford, but I didn’t regret it either. I certainly didn’t bother with the FA Cup trip to Newcastle, I wrote that bugger off when the draw was made. Fleetwood Town away? Yes please. Newcastle United? No chance.
I didn’t even keep track of the score and I’m not ashamed to admit it, I didn’t have to. Another 2-1 defeat, one up from a scrambled set-piece, concede a last minute winner, under the cosh as soon as the other team decides to have a go, it’s just oh so predictable and damningly depressing, if you let it.
So where to now? Well, Fleetwood Town away if we keep it up. The manager should have been packing his bags after the Bolton debacle, the Indians should have wired a big fat cheque to Nuttall Street and Mark Hughes should be facing the flash photography outside Brockhall, with that snake Kia Joorabchian slivering by his side, rather than Loftus Road.
Like New Year’s Resolutions, none of those things came true. We were promised immediate signings as soon as the window opened, in reality – it’s been a re-run of the summer. Harry Redknapp trying to get his sticky mitts on more additions to his subs bench, although that could account for every player in the Premiership in fairness, players linked to the exit door left, right and centre, without a single name of any worth remotely linked to the club.
According to news reports, Venky’s opted to placate the fans, not by replacing the manager, but by announcing a major signing. For once, their footballing insight might actually be correct. We’re easily appeased by new signings, always have been – as football fans it’s embedded in our nature, it’s what sells newspapers, give us the reins on Football Manager and we’ll clear the entire squad out, spending every last dime on the quick fix of another useless signing; new signing not doing it? Sign another.
In the days of no transfer windows, we used to sign a new player every week, collecting them under King Kenny, those were the days (again). Brian Kidd got away with it the last time we were relegated, spanking Jack’s cash on a new striker every week. The truth is, we haven’t announced a signing at all, and Steve Kean is still in employment. I almost wish we’d sign Jerome Anderson’s neighbour’s dog, sod it - give him the player manager’s job while we’re at it.
In yesterday’s local rag, Kean offered the assertion that we will “get ourselves out of this position that we are in and I am sure we will do that in the next few weeks.” How often have we heard that line this season? He’ll still be saying it in June, celebrating a new contract because we’ll be third in the Championship on alphabetical order.
Unless Ronaldinho’s flight has been delayed for twelve months, unless we sign two full backs and a whole central midfield, unless we sign another forward, unless Steve Kean gets jailed for nailing another case of wine with a Budweiser chaser and going for another spin his motor, unless I wake up and it’s 1995 again, unless, unless, unless. We’re going down and the sooner we start preparing ourselves for it, the less it will hurt – and it will bloody hurt.
I could be wrong of course, I hope I’m wrong; I’ve just grown tired of false hope. False hope that we’ll win two consecutive games, false hope that we’ll ever keep a clean sheet and false hope that Steve Kean will ever decide on his best team, without having to change it around at half time when we’re already two goals down.
The toothless display against the Baggies was hard to stomach, the defeat to Bolton an all-time low and the feeble defending allowing Peter Crouch’s brace at Ewood, was an echo of those failings. We’ve now lost eight of our ten home fixtures and the comforts of fortress Ewood are crumbled ruins, covered in moss and bird muck. We can no longer count on our home form, which fills me with more trepidation ahead of the visit of Fulham on Saturday.
The protests are set to return and hopefully it will motivate the players in turn. The positive results at Liverpool and Manchester United succeeded boiling point in the previous home game and it didn’t go unnoticed that Kean opted to send his players out for those games in yellow and black, against red opposition, potentially in a psychological slant at the adoption of the club’s change colours by the protestors.
Why are the protests returning? Because Venky’s haven’t said a bloody word and we’re still propping up the rest of the table, listening to the same old broken record week after week. Blackburn isn’t known for trend-setting, but it appears that other fans are following suit now – Coventry fans for example, some of which chose to miss the opening fifteen minutes of their Cup tie at the weekend, to call for the manager’s head.
Sunderland supporters campaigned for all of five minutes before they got their wish – and look at them now? I suspect that most of Loftus Road are still getting to grips with the laws of the game, but their chairman acted as soon as they hinted at sliding into the bottom three. I like Neil Warnock, but the chairman was right – they were in free-fall. Worryingly for Rovers, that could be another club boosted by a new manager and climbing the league, while we’re on our tenth assistant manager of the season, still learning how to defend. If Mark Hughes does accept the job this week, I’ll be close to tears. Still, there’s always Saturday to look forward to eh? Anyone? No, me neither, can’t bloody wait. Happy New Year everyone. We are the Rovers.
Well, now that’s covered – what about the bad habits? Now, let me see – I drink too much, I smoke too much and I support a shit football team. All of which I have no desire to give up. It wasn’t always this way of course, five years ago I still drank too much, smoked a little less and supported a decent football team in Europe.
Ten years ago it was much the same, and seventeen years ago – seventeen you ask? Okay I know it doesn’t really correlate with the previous five year time shifts, but I didn’t put that much thought into this, it’s January for Samba’s sake - give me a break. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, seventeen years ago, I only drank cider on weekends, albeit in parks and playgrounds, didn’t smoke at all, well apart from that one time when I was sick on my Kickers, and I supported the best team in the land, the Champions in waiting, the pride of the nation, the king of kings, the premier of the Premiership, alright, alright - and the point to all this? There is no point, but like all Rovers fans, I just like to point that fact out every now and again.
Anyway, back to the present – the shit football team. Well, we are aren’t we? Shock draws and wins at Anfield and Old Trafford respectively, did little to dispel that theory, we simply benefitted from the opposition failing to turn up and we still did our best to bugger it up. It was the three home games over the festive period that ultimately defined us, home losses to West Brom, Bolton and Stoke – becoming masters of the 2-1 home reverse; making an art out of giving the away team a goal or two start.
The straws have long been clutched for Steve Kean’s tenure – a better style of play used to be my favourite, but that went out of the window a long time ego. We’re now back to where we were with the glutinous one, only without the clean sheets, without the solid home form and halfway down the league table, the end of the line in fact, rock bloody bottom.
Thus, and I knew there was a point here somewhere, back to my New Year’s Resolution – put simply, it’s to stop caring so much, to stop putting my hopes and energies into thinking we might actually get a result at the weekend, to tighten my wallet and stop wasting my time on fruitless away trips, eating up my weekend and putting me in a foul mood for the rest of the week. I didn’t go to Anfield, or Old Trafford, but I didn’t regret it either. I certainly didn’t bother with the FA Cup trip to Newcastle, I wrote that bugger off when the draw was made. Fleetwood Town away? Yes please. Newcastle United? No chance.
I didn’t even keep track of the score and I’m not ashamed to admit it, I didn’t have to. Another 2-1 defeat, one up from a scrambled set-piece, concede a last minute winner, under the cosh as soon as the other team decides to have a go, it’s just oh so predictable and damningly depressing, if you let it.
So where to now? Well, Fleetwood Town away if we keep it up. The manager should have been packing his bags after the Bolton debacle, the Indians should have wired a big fat cheque to Nuttall Street and Mark Hughes should be facing the flash photography outside Brockhall, with that snake Kia Joorabchian slivering by his side, rather than Loftus Road.
Like New Year’s Resolutions, none of those things came true. We were promised immediate signings as soon as the window opened, in reality – it’s been a re-run of the summer. Harry Redknapp trying to get his sticky mitts on more additions to his subs bench, although that could account for every player in the Premiership in fairness, players linked to the exit door left, right and centre, without a single name of any worth remotely linked to the club.
According to news reports, Venky’s opted to placate the fans, not by replacing the manager, but by announcing a major signing. For once, their footballing insight might actually be correct. We’re easily appeased by new signings, always have been – as football fans it’s embedded in our nature, it’s what sells newspapers, give us the reins on Football Manager and we’ll clear the entire squad out, spending every last dime on the quick fix of another useless signing; new signing not doing it? Sign another.
In the days of no transfer windows, we used to sign a new player every week, collecting them under King Kenny, those were the days (again). Brian Kidd got away with it the last time we were relegated, spanking Jack’s cash on a new striker every week. The truth is, we haven’t announced a signing at all, and Steve Kean is still in employment. I almost wish we’d sign Jerome Anderson’s neighbour’s dog, sod it - give him the player manager’s job while we’re at it.
In yesterday’s local rag, Kean offered the assertion that we will “get ourselves out of this position that we are in and I am sure we will do that in the next few weeks.” How often have we heard that line this season? He’ll still be saying it in June, celebrating a new contract because we’ll be third in the Championship on alphabetical order.
Unless Ronaldinho’s flight has been delayed for twelve months, unless we sign two full backs and a whole central midfield, unless we sign another forward, unless Steve Kean gets jailed for nailing another case of wine with a Budweiser chaser and going for another spin his motor, unless I wake up and it’s 1995 again, unless, unless, unless. We’re going down and the sooner we start preparing ourselves for it, the less it will hurt – and it will bloody hurt.
I could be wrong of course, I hope I’m wrong; I’ve just grown tired of false hope. False hope that we’ll win two consecutive games, false hope that we’ll ever keep a clean sheet and false hope that Steve Kean will ever decide on his best team, without having to change it around at half time when we’re already two goals down.
The toothless display against the Baggies was hard to stomach, the defeat to Bolton an all-time low and the feeble defending allowing Peter Crouch’s brace at Ewood, was an echo of those failings. We’ve now lost eight of our ten home fixtures and the comforts of fortress Ewood are crumbled ruins, covered in moss and bird muck. We can no longer count on our home form, which fills me with more trepidation ahead of the visit of Fulham on Saturday.
The protests are set to return and hopefully it will motivate the players in turn. The positive results at Liverpool and Manchester United succeeded boiling point in the previous home game and it didn’t go unnoticed that Kean opted to send his players out for those games in yellow and black, against red opposition, potentially in a psychological slant at the adoption of the club’s change colours by the protestors.
Why are the protests returning? Because Venky’s haven’t said a bloody word and we’re still propping up the rest of the table, listening to the same old broken record week after week. Blackburn isn’t known for trend-setting, but it appears that other fans are following suit now – Coventry fans for example, some of which chose to miss the opening fifteen minutes of their Cup tie at the weekend, to call for the manager’s head.
Sunderland supporters campaigned for all of five minutes before they got their wish – and look at them now? I suspect that most of Loftus Road are still getting to grips with the laws of the game, but their chairman acted as soon as they hinted at sliding into the bottom three. I like Neil Warnock, but the chairman was right – they were in free-fall. Worryingly for Rovers, that could be another club boosted by a new manager and climbing the league, while we’re on our tenth assistant manager of the season, still learning how to defend. If Mark Hughes does accept the job this week, I’ll be close to tears. Still, there’s always Saturday to look forward to eh? Anyone? No, me neither, can’t bloody wait. Happy New Year everyone. We are the Rovers.
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