Liverpool 3 West Ham 0
Her Indoors has booked tickets to see Jerusalem at the Apollo Theatre without consulting the football fixtures. So luckily I’m spared having to watch our annual capitulatution at Anfield.
Jerusalem is the story of Johnny ‘Rooster’ Byron, a man living in a caravan deep in the woods who drinks vodka, milk and raw eggs for a hangover-curing breakfast and hangs around with teenage misfits smoking dope and doing lines of cocaine. He’s barred from the Cooper’s Arms and under threat of eviction from Kennet and Avon council for anti-social behaviour. You can only assume that at some stage in his life he must have been a West Ham supporter.
Matt’s text to our restricted view box reads like a line from a post-modern footballing version of Waiting for Godot, only bleaker. “Lost 3-0 utter tosh throughout fans MOM again no silver lining”. Nigel follows up with “Lawro just sd 1 word summed up WH: Championship”.
The next day’s Guardian comments “Woeful West Ham put Liverpool on easy street” following up with “Here, on a night when fighting spirit was a prerequisite for a team in trouble, was the embodiment of Premier League surrender.”
It’s a big indictment of Zola and Clarke that we go into games at Man United, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool assuming we’ll lose. We haven't won at Anfield since 1963. And Zola saying that he looked into the eyes of the players and knew they’d react against Wigan isn’t inspiring us with hope.
The management has failed to motivate the players and even if we win all the final three matches we will still have only 40 points. Which with the players we have isn’t good enough. We have failed to build Jerusalem in E13's green and pleasant land.
Could all that volcanic ash in the sky actually be the result of a huge eruption from David Sullivan’s gaff in the Chigwell vicinity?
No comments:
Post a Comment