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View from the Cemetery - January 2012

Submitted by Ghostly Gadgie on Thursday, 12 January 2012

So, having hesitated longer than a virgin behind the bike sheds on a cold Thursday night, the fat lad has said the word, and it turns out the Evo-Stik League is the holy grail after all. Probably a mistake. The ground can't possibly be up to standard yet, and he is surely not relying on the council to get their act in gear by the end of March? To be fair mind, they have only had a hundred years to get the Colliery Welfare up to scratch, and they have very nearly made it already, so what's three months when they put their minds to it? I jest of course, why on earth should the council have to put themselves out to satisfy a vanity project in Ryhope? I suppose the club must be planning to get all the DIY talent on the committee to chip in, what with a bit electrics here and a bit joinery there, should be easy to crack off...

And anyway where is the petrol money coming from? Long way to Clitheroe, in fact judging from the last time I was there must be getting on for the best part of 20 years or so...

Enough with this negativity and lack of ambition I say, we can't let the Northern League and other assorted prophets of gloom hold us back from our rightful destiny, why should we not be the first club in the Premier League with an average gate under 70? Anyway I know how to look forward, I went on one of those positive thinking courses once. It was crap, but then I knew it would be...

This one should run for the next few months, let’s leave it at that, what else is on the agenda nowadays? Well, the funny mismatch between home and away form continues unabated, what will happen against Spenny I wonder? What is it about the old slope we have forgotten all of a sudden? Off we go to the likes of Shildon, always a tough game, and back we come with the points, but when I am straining my neck over the fence we get done by the Sand Dancers, doesn't really make sense, does it? And it does nothing for Defty's good humour, working his fingers to the bone, scalding himself on the Bovril and not even a win to cheer him up.

Onwards and upwards...