A Belated Christmas Carol

Date: Wednesday 3rd January 2007

Set Pieces

Just to show how up to date TW is, here's a touching story. About Christmas.

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Total Posts: 2743

Total Articles: 12

Member Since:
25th October 2004

Twas the night before Christmas. Not a creature was stirring, not even Chris Malkin. Samhater turned off the large plasma TV hanging on his lounge wall. As he went to bed, he glanced over at the photo of Sam Allardyce on his dartboard. Three arrows hit the target perfectly. As he climbed into bed and began to drift off, he began to mutter to himself “Long ball shit.” “Negative tactics.” “Nicky Hunt.” He couldn’t sleep. He quickly got up for a cup of warm milk. Logging onto the PC, he browsed TW website. It was full off like minded fans, hating the tactics, the misuse of Vaz Te, the boring 8-1-1 formation. Samhater logged off, smug in the fact that the BWFC fans were gathering momentum to get rid of the man who had admittedly achieved miracles, but who had destroyed all aspects of entertainment at the club. A quick twist of the Sam voodoo effigy on the bedside table, and Samhater was fast asleep this Christmas Eve. Samhater awoke with a jolt. His window was closed, but the curtains began to waft around the room. His alarm clock stated that the time was 3am. As he lay back on the pillow, he spotted a movement out of the corner of his eye. He sat bolt upright, “Who is there?” he called out. A slight figure of a man hobbled into his bedroom. His face was hidden by a BWFC scarf. “What a ding dong do,” shouted the figure “Dave Higson?” stuttered Samhater. “Ai lad, it is me. I am the ghost of Bolton Christmas Past. I am here to show you the error of your ways,” explained the former Bolton commentator. After some persuasion that this was no dream, Samhater left with Mr Higson. He closed his eyes, and when re-opened, he was in a pub. “Wow, the Waggon and Horses,” shouted SH with glee. “Pint please,” he asked. A flat pint of Tetley’s was handed over for the measly sum of £1.50 “And this is meant to be bad?” asked SH as he supped the warm ale. Higson ushered SH out of the door without a word. After a stop at the pie shop, SH was in his element as they approached Burnden Park. As they stepped through the turnstile, they were greeted with a wave of piss flowing from the broken terrace toilets. Onto the terrace, the cold wind blew down the length of the stand as they struggled to stand behind a post that obstructed their view. SH was still happy. But as he glanced onto the pitch, he saw a sight that sent a shiver down his spine. Lead out by Roy McFarland was a BWFC XI that was beyond belief. Peter Shilton, Steve McAnespie, John O’Kane, you can imagine the rest of the line up. When Barry Knight was introduced as the referee, and Gareth Farrelly was shown on the bench along with Robert Fleck, SH had seen enough. “Get me out of here” he yelled. As he opened his eyes, SH was back in bed. “Hmm, so what, we had some shit players. Modern times are no better, Nicky Hunt, Ibrahim Ba, Diawara, nice try but I still hate Sam.” With that, there was the sound of chains rattling. Through the wall stepped legendary soul man, James Brown. “Hey man, sorry for the delay, just had to stop off at Dioufy’s place to pick up some chains. Damn customs wouldn’t let me fly with mine” “What have you got to do with BWFC?” asked a puzzled SH. “Well you stole my damn annoying song every time you score, so what the hey, I stole the role in this story” explained Brown. James Brown picked up his brand new bag before taking SH through the wall mirror. “As the ghost of BWFC Christmas present, I will show you how good you have it,” he said. The two began to walk down a terraced street by Ewood Park. “I have never understood why these houses have 2 bedrooms when all Blackburn families share one bed,” questioned the soul man. SH shrugged as they entered Ewood. “Why have you brought me to a reserve game?” asked SH. “I haven’t,” stated Brown as they looked around the empty stadium. “This is a team who won the Premier League, yet look, the stadium is empty, the fans were not happy and the team turned into the cloggers that you see today,” said Brown in the increasingly annoying fake accent. “Oi, you, get ourt of our grrrrrouuuuund” shouted the erie Lancashire accent of Jack Walker. With that James yelled “Ow” in the high pitched shriek and the two were at Eastlands. “More fans who are not happy, a big team, a big stadium, yet look at the shower of shit out on the field,” said James. “I was going to show you Upton Park as another example, but I’m from Brooklyn, I have some standards.” SH laughed as he found himself once again back in bed. “So other teams have fallen on hard times. Big deal, I am only concerned with our negative nonsense,” thought SH to himself as he tried to fall back asleep. A knock on the window awoke SH. Stood in full military clothing was Saddam Hussein. “Don’t tell me, you are the ghost of Christmas yet to come?” questioned SH. The figure tried to nod, but seemed to have some kind of neck problem. “I am to show you the way things will be. Let us go forward for 5 years” “Whoa, wait, what tenuous link do you have with BWFC,” asked SH, refusing to follow the evil dictator. “Well, I think maybe I just arrived at the right time as the job came in. But also, Andranik is now working as a translator since he is obviously not a footballer. I was the first person he thought of,” explained Saddam. With that, the 2 jumped forward 5 years. The Reebok was less than half full. The stadium announcer welcomed the fans to this Nationwide League 1 clash. Out trotted the BWFC team, lots of has beens and never weres, and Nicky Hunt. The game was of a poor standard, and SH asked to leave. “Ok, so we got relegated, I knew Sam would take us down. Still, we always bounce back right?” he asked with worry. “Sam left. He hated the whining fans, so took a job at a big club…. Wolves,” Saddam told. With a clap of the hands, they were now at the Adidas stadium 15 years ahead (The takeover of Reebok was completed in 2013). Only one stand remained, the North was offices, the South was executive boxes, the East was a Normid. “As TV money became more important, clubs demolished their stands. The average crowd is now 2097. Football is only the third most watched sport now. Poker is second, with Women’s netball in the lead. I knew Sky were onto something back in 2006” laughed Saddam. “So, we make money elsewhere, who cares. What league are we in?” asked SH “Oh, there is no league outside of the top flight. We just play matches, you know, for fun” he said deadly serious. Another clap of the hands and we are at the stadium in 40 years. The car park is gone, replaced by the levitating monorail. “Well, that is one improvement at least” shouted SH, just as the tannoy announced, “Expected wait time until next monorail departure, 1 hour” “See, nothing changes” joked Saddam with a strict look on his face, “Oh very funny. Put your face straight you miserable git,” said SH “I can’t the noose has that affect” explained Saddam As they went inside, they saw a BWFC side run out, dressed in red. “It was 2042 when most clubs finally decided to call it a day. They surrendered to the inevitable. The Premiership consists now of 5 teams, the rest are feeder clubs. We are now Bolton Man U 4th XI.,” said a sad Saddam. SH tried to keep his optimistic look. “Well, I guess we get to see some of their quality talent down here” “Maybe there is no hope for you” said Saddam, “Perhaps you will always hate Sam and end up with this as your future” SH nodded. “By the way, Arsenal, Man Utd, Liverpool and Chelsea, but who is the other team in the Premiership?” asked an intrigued SH. “Bury!” shouted Saddam “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,” yelled SH as he found himself back in bed. He jumped up and immediately logged on. From this day forward, SH has changed his ways. He rang the club and immediately purchased one of the great value half season tickets. He proudly wore his ‘I love Sam’ T-Shirt as he exclaimed, “Big Sam’s super white army, god bless you, everyone”

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