Left Wingerless
I must say, I was mildly disappointed when I hit the hay last night after the transfer window was well and truly shut, prison barred and had those little things fitted that you get on ground floor windows so you can open it just about enough to get some oxygen but certainly too small for the likes of a professional athlete to get through.
I’m not sure if it was the thunder stolen by West Ham’s super signings, as suspicious as they may be, or the actual players stolen by our neighbours from hell or perhaps more to the point the lack of any real surprises.
The Bagel was sure himself and yourselves alike would be marvelling at ‘the transfer that came from outer space’ in this very epistle. But no. Not a sniff.
We did well to get our right back in the end but no left footer in sight and what’s more, we went and bought yet another midfielder, as versatile as he apparently is.
On a side, but certainly interesting, note, our man in the field, Toby the Yid, has passed on some most interesting gossip from the Popbitch stables. Apparently, a certain manager, known for his like of a certain brand of English Mustard, had a bit of a snigger at the diminutive size of one of his young colt’s tackle. Said, or unsaid in this case, player has since spent a little time under anaesthetic, presumably ketamine and the knife in order to fix this little problem so that it’s not so little.
This led to a bit of a falling out between player and manager and eventually the sale of this thoroughbred to an alternative club, good humoured enough to understand the problem and the need for the ten week recovery period for his ‘groin strain.’ Just so you get this straight, I’m not talking about Ruud van Nistelrooy.
Apologies for not having the direct quote on me just now and again many thanks again to Toby the Yid for bringing this one to The Bagel’s attention.
Anyway, as I was saying, when I went to bed last night, you might say I was feeling down, my beef a little tired and fatty, my mustard wearing thin. Feeling down, until I remembered the words of a fellow Spur by the name of Hugh, who I met the other night (I love the way we get everywhere).
‘Mr. Bagel,’ he said to me, for he knew my name, ‘we had a great season last season and we had no left winger. Yes, it’s a shame not to get one but I’ve been down the Lane for many years,’ he took me round the shoulder and looked off toward the stars, a dewy look in his eye, ‘and this is the first time for many a moon that I’ve trusted the management. They did us proud last season. Let them do it again.’
He left my side and got back to the evenings revelries but I didn’t move from my spot. I stood there thinking, gazing far out to where Hugh’s distant star had been. He was right. Of course he was right. I love Martin Jol. Martin Jol loves me.
It’s difficult at times. On the surface, I’m sure these are not the decisions we would have made. Why not have tried Lennon on the left and Routledge on the right. What happened to Ben Arfa? What happened to Boa Morte? The fact is we have to make a leap of faith.
If Everton showed us anything last week, it’s that you don’t need the players; you don’t even need 11 of them. You just need to believe.
And the bagel shall lie down with the beef.
The Bagel
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September 7th, 2006 at 2:24 pm
In order to cause a big fuss about our new signings, Comolli could (should) have left completing the Zokora and Berby deals until 23.59 on deadline night.
It may have achieved at least three things;
1. Given the ‘back pages’ what they wanted, hype and drama etc, of the last minute kind.
2. Banish the memory of last seasons’ 11th hour deal that brought Rucksack from Pride Park to WHL …
3. Make the Spammers’ ‘deal’ look even more like Arthur Daley handling a small shipment of top-notch but very dodgy Betamax videos … (with South American plugs on) that nobody else wanted to touch with a barge pole… than it already does.
Might have been an idea then …