We’re over half way through the first week back having to do stuff and what better way to begin the glide down hill than to check in with Peter and Alloa. Season 10 is about to get underway but there are vultures circling…
There was a weariness to the third time I swiped the snooze button to silence the skull shattering screech of my alarm. The bed sheets were crumped around my legs which were stretch lengthways across the width of the bed. Elaine had taken herself and the kids to her sisters across the river to Cumbernauld. One more season, she’d warned, and if I didn’t accept, she’d contact me via her solicitor in parchment form. Dragging myself into the cold bathroom, at least I’d managed to fix the shower over the summer months. Conversely, access was limited by the overspilling laundry basket blocking the full swing of the door. As the dirt and grim sludged its way down my body, I made the decision then and there, this would be my last full season.
Back to the training ground, my resolve deepened as the queue forming at my door resembled an audition for a revamped Fox. All brill cream, stolen Aztec jewels and faux Saville Row threads. Each with their own dopey-eyed scion looking for an escape from the Clackmannanshire workhouse. In their eyes, Richard Arkwright would be a better employer than me. We’ve won two league titles in a row but that’s still not enough.
The first to leave is Faux Paul. I’m surprised his fee wasn’t higher, but he clearly wanted to be with his fellow Alloa refugees on the Tyne.
The last of the Huguenots splits from the Auld Alliance and heads out to Manchester. Those epochal mills were clearly calling…
Bazzer followers the pilgrim route down to the Tyne. His star was starting to wane and I’m not to bothered to see the back of him.
The final escapee follows his own romanticised industrial dreams. That’s both centre backs gone. We’ve got plenty in the squad ready and willing to step up.
Here’s how we’ll line up. Get the Milli Vanilli gags ready.
Onto August and the fixture list is sent through. Bloody Hell. Well, we may as well get on with it… I’m not sure of Martin’s desire to carry on with us, but at least he’s banging them away.
League Cup action and I’ve dispensed with the youth experiment from last year. Fortunately Darren isn’t out for long.(I once met Dominic Cork just after his Test hat-trick. All us young boys hanging around the dining hall at Chesterfield Cricket Ground which, oddly, was detached from the pavilion. We didn’t have the nerve to tell him that 3rd wicket looked miles away and that the umpire was just swept up in the commotion of the afternoon.)
Dair is still sulking after I reject a £20.5m offer from south of the boarder.
Not a bad draw. Inter look like the ones to cause most trouble.
East Fife try to resurrect the Eric Morecombe gags but we’re more than (Ernie) wise to that. Another quarter final to look forward to.
Aberdeen were quite poor, and girl, they know it’s true.
Dundee, back on the half-time distilled Iron Bru (we’re really rolling back the blogs now) go full Duncan Ferguson.
This year, there’s no room for Glennie and we may as well cash in. All is forgiven and Brebs is brought back into the fold.
This snapshot (taken after he’d settled into his Wirral mansion) shows he was a fantastic free signing back in season 4. He was one of our Euro 2004 heroes, stepping into Martin’s injured boots. Get your free signings out on loan for a season to fatten up their Ability Stat!
From the score sheet, it looks like I’m going full Alloa. I do let a few have a look in…
After last years scare, we’re not letting up in the league. “The first and great commandment is: Don’t let them scare you.” I remind the boys of Elmer Davis. “The one hunting Bugs Bunny?” they reply.
Inter Milan bring all the locals out in force and we hold off a second half onslaught. William Low Classic Cola all around for the boys. Less said about the Argentinian corn-beef inspired typhoid outbreak in ’64.
Clearly the exoticism of James Richardson nostalgia was too much for the boys and by the 2nd half, they’re in a sulk that life can’t be frozen to a mid-nineties Sunday afternoon.
Ikpeba clearly has something against my lads as that’s 2 red cards in 2 matches. Get the Viagra out, a semi awaits. (no more original gags? Ed.)
This is our first dropped points of the year and it’s Partick bloody Thistle.
Ummm…not sure what happens after the 5th minute of our matches but clearly we’re not travelling in the direction of our fear.
A quick trip across the forth and the first half is played out in a proper fashion.
A disappointing weekend break with a sloppy penalty given away.
Celtic continue their downfall to a lonely 3rd best Scottish team after Uncle Jack’s deflection to Aston Villa.
McQuilken was really getting under my feet requesting to move to a bigger club, as if he’d become indispensable to blackmail me into his sale. He decided to take the alternative pilgrimage south.
We bounce back against Slovan and his men with another 12,000 turning up. The usual suspects on the score sheet.
We’ve started well in the league but we must push on real had in the Champions League.
Och aye for now!