The Fat Lady aint singing for HORC. Bolton M R.

Bolton, Bowton, Rivalry and the Fat Lady warming up.

The usual routine was followed; off the train and around the corner to the WC in which there was the fortnightly committee meeting. Nina and Frederick were present. All motions were passed; all those in favour said ‘aye, (aye aye the beat is crazy)’.

Now jump to 16.35 on the day of the game; all hell had been let lose in the North stand. Money was being thrown away, people were being biffed on the beak, flares were turning tempers blue and people were leaving early not because Wigan were losing, but this time to miss the onslaught of untamed warriors from somewhere not too far south. Six minutes after they left they were coming back. Either they’d heard that Massey was ‘that’ good, or they were retreating from a herd of Bolton bison. I thought we’d entered a ‘Time Warp’ and we were playing Milwall already.

I hadn’t even arrived in the WC and I was affronted by a single word from a well-seasoned Bowton old codger; with assured astuteness he simply opened his mouth and out came 1 word. ‘Wnaker’. (I doubt he could spell the word either). To which, in my best white middle-class accent said “pardon”? He replied “Wanker; Wigan – Wankers”. With 2 more words I sensed a conversation was developing so I suggested he’d “been up all night thinking the perceptive comment through, carry on”. I detected he didn’t follow my line of thought and the conversation ended.

I do fear though that I may have been the catalyst of the flare up at 16.34. It’s my fault. He’d had time to consider it and he was angry. I sensed an afternoon of ‘Love and Anger’.

Anyway, I digress there is the match report to see to. The Fat Lady is warming her vocal chords but Aretha Franklin has ‘said a little prayer for us’ and it worked. No sooner had the late arrivals sat down and they had to stand up. Evans found a ball on his head and with pure skill and panache he ….. doesn’t matter what he did; it went in and that is all that matters. “Celebrate – Come ON”.

But we are Wigan and decided that entertainment for the impartial supporters was more important than consolidating the lead. Bowton had a shot but England’s maybe number 1 one day put in a Banksy save; “What became of the Broken Hearted” was redundant. Phew.

The half-time goal shoot alternative happened with a target that even a Wigan striker could barely hit. As the Rolling Stones sang “Miss You”.

The second half started. At Reading we had it ‘in the bag’ but everything conspired against us and this week was looking worryingly similar. The Ref had clearly left his cards at home.

Gavin got the ball. His Dad sat silently and pensively urging him to score; his Mum bounced on her chair with excitement. He was through. Last man, and with the skill of an Airbus 380 pilot in turbulence he directed his ball off 1 defender and then a perfectly placed deflection off the post. Like steering around those cumulus clouds. His Mum was ecstatic; ‘code 1’ was broadcast but I couldn’t get across to the posh seats for the mandatory hug. Any one remembers John Lee Hooker “I want to Hug You”. That was the meaning of ‘code 1’. Believe me.

But worse was to come; I thought Figs was back in the camp, remembering Fulham, with a goal line save except the ball knocked Cedric over and in it went. We were in a good position to lose. Cedric isn’t a big boy, and the wind was strong.

Led Zep pounded out; ‘Good Times Bad Times’. Does unsporting behaviour exist? At the end of the season anything goes. The fights were starting, and some rotter stole the ball from their keeper to pass to Nicky P. I instantly thought of ‘Misfortunes are Cruel’ by Sweat Trip; it is so harsh to laugh at other’s misfortunes and I let everyone know that in ES7. We wont be having that kind of cynical and sarcastic laughter again.

First Jacobs was through and then Morsy and both let us down by missing. Oh well, ‘Let It Be’ we were 4 – 1 up. It was almost like being at Oxford, it almost felt we could relax, but lulled into a sense of false security it was suddenly 4 – 2.

Leon came on, singing in the style of his name sake; Mr Russell, but Leon has had a haircut and shaved his beard. “Just My Style”. Like Leon in concert Leon loped on to the pitch just a few seconds behind schedule. He got to every tackle a shade behind the ball BUT his delayed arrival at the back post meant he could be the experienced striker we were promised and in it went. Halleluhah said Leonard Cooke!

‘The Crowd Went Crazy as Leon hit the net’. In every sense. Elation, happiness, fighting and stupidity.

Keep yer hands OFF Reece, MoM every game NOT.

“HAPPY”, eh Parrel?

Hopefully the Fat Lady can carry on warming up for a bit longer. The euphoria was dampened by the senseless shenanigans in New Zealand …… a raw nerve for me – we lived there for 13 years. Kiri Te Kanawa came on with hope of a “World in Union”.