Wolves are arriving on Sunday. And leaving sharpish.
It’s been a European week, so it’ll be Sunday again when it’s time to tie up your laces, cover your faces. We’re playing Wolves, who have been described alternately as the worst Premier League team ever, the worst Wolves team ever (because that time from 1983-90 never happened) and the biggest pile of shite to ever wear football boots.
They will, of course be accompanied by a strange breed of humanity known as ‘Wolves supporters’. Their dress codes are basic, they speak in some savage dialect of which the only words discernible to the civilised ear are “inventedeuropeanfootball,” “stavyviebull” and “biggerthanbarcelona,” although the last of these hasn’t been heard for a few years. Their dress codes are basic and no matter how bad they are they’ll still believe their players are better than ours. No-one with any sense would want to be stood in their places.
Everyone who listens to WM will know all about the hilarious shortcomings of their owners and they’ve got a manager who used to play for us. They’ve also had a few managers in the past who used to manage us. They’ve got Sam Johnstone, who deserves a good reception for his time here when we were almost as bad as they are now and couldn’t afford to buy him. He could have hung around but had no time to wait.
Our team will be the usual collection of world-beaters with only a couple missing although we’re due a warming-up injury. Also long overdue is a Wolves win, which is why there’s been a bit more apprehension about this one than there should have been. We really should have got past that sort of idea by now; no need to cover your faces, the boys are about to attack.
We’ve got a few tough games coming up so we could do with a nice, pleasant, easy win here but if they want war then we will. There is no time to wait, get ready for it.
