Strange times

Football is often a matter of timing.

Whether a striker times their run into the box to perfection, a defender mistimes a tackle, the teams play extra time, timing BLAHBLAH. Or indeed when kick off TIME is moved to suit the effing TV cameras. That is the stark reality of the mighty Lesta City and TLF’s December, not a ‘normal’ home fixture in sight. Tis the season to be grumpy.

And so I found myself an armchair supporter as I settled down to watch Lesta v Man Utd, or as we were disbelievingly calling it, “First v Second.” For those in the know, you are quite right, this kick off was a mere two and a half hours later than normal, but if you want to try and sell a Satday ETA of 10pm to Mr TLF, after a week that included one night out on the lash in ‘that there Lundun’ then be my guest.

Bring the vodka and Bacardi*
Jamie Vardy’s having a party
(*other beverages are available but might detract from the poetic nature of the chant).

And with a perfectly timed run (plus turn of speed and a cracking pass from defender Christian Fuchs), Mr V successfully sets a new record of 11 goals in 11 Premier League games. A record previously held by one Mr van Nistelrooy of the current opposition, Manchester United, a year after Jamie Vardy still only had one goal to his name scored against, Manchester United. Not merely a sense of timing, but also a sense of occasion. TLF carries out a dance disaster of a celebratory jig in the living room and eschews (BOOM!) the aforementioned spirits for the more traditional TLF party libation, Stella Artois. The game finished 1-1 and a brief sense of disappointment at not beating Manchester United was quickly laughed out of the room when the little grey cells reminded me of our precarious situation 12 months previous.

Sadly the party in Lowestoft, where the Mighty Saints have travelled was most definitely OFF, complete with deflated balloons, warm lager and a distinctly poor savoury snack offering (metaphorically of course I do not wish to imply Lowestoft has low standards of catering). After a 4-0 thumping in the FA Trophy and a series of other bad results, our joint managers resigned before they even got on the coach to come back home. I ended the day with one team bottom but one of their league and one team top but one….Strange times indeed.

It is unlikely the departure of Jimmy Grey and Graham Gold will make it into Private Eye for an satirical commentary and so I have done my best to oblige with a TLF Poetry Corner, for those familiar with the said periodical.

So. Farewell Mr Gold and Grey.
You could have been
Extras in Reservoir Dogs
But instead you managed
The Mighty Saints.

You led us to
Play off Glory.
But more recently
Defeat has made us
Sick as parrots.

And just like
The one in
The Monty Python sketch.
Our joint management team
Has ceased to be.

TLF Thribb (aged 17 1/2)

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