<TLF, Mikkel Beck, and a bloke who had 20 quid on him to score>

On my return from honeymoon in the Channel Islands, I was invited to attend a match by a season-ticket holder at work. I accepted without hesitation and in mid-September I went along for my first view of the Riverside to see Boro beat Coventry 2-1. The new stadium was impressive, despite appearing to stick out like a skeletal, white metal thumb in amongst an industrial wasteland of rubble and decaying petrochemical plants. The media, naturally, weren’t shy in using this juxtaposition when reporting on the club’s affairs or when broadcasting the matches on TV. It was to become a sore point with proud Teessiders.

As for my match experience, I couldn’t fault it. Inside, the stadium was pristine and modern, comprising one large stand-alone main stand (the West Stand) and three smaller stands (North, East, and South) joined together in a horseshoe shape around the other sides of the pitch.   My seat in the East Stand provided an excellent view of the action. There wasn’t a spare seat to be had, and the atmosphere was electric, even for an all-seater stadium. At half time I looked around me at the beaming faces of Boro fans who had never expected to see themselves in a place like this. The novelty of it all was still plain to see on their faces. One man, who was sat a few seats away from me, looked like he wanted to burst with pride, shaking his head as he said to his companion, “This is all ours! I can’t believe it, man. This. Is. Ours!”  Things continued to get better and better.

In October, Boro signed a diminutive young Brazilian player called Osvaldo Giroldo Junior, or Juninho as he was more commonly known. He had featured well against England in a friendly at Wembley in the summer and was attracting attention from the likes of Arsenal, so it was seen as a massive coup for Bryan Robson to be able to secure this calibre of player. The town reacted with unbridled joy, stripping sports shops of Brazil football shirts and flags like plagues of fooking massive locusts, like. Samba bands were hastily thrown together to greet the little midfield wizard, and the excitement reached fever pitch when he made his debut against Leeds United at the Riverside in early November. It was love at first dribble as the “Little Fella” showed flashes of his devastating turn of pace and incredible ball control. He set up Boro’s only goal and even managed to get booked after decking a Leeds player twice his size. Skill, pace and the heart of a lion…his place in the Boro hearts was cemented from that day forth. 

 I managed to catch a few more games as the season progressed and if I couldn’t go, I endeavoured to watch any matches shown live or catch highlights on Match Of The Day. I persuaded my father to come along again to see a League Cup match against Crystal Palace, and it was on that night I made it clear that I was now a Boro supporter by buying a red and white scarf from the club shop at the North West corner of the stadium. My dad wasn’t surprised to see me put the scarf round my neck, but pretended to be disappointed that I had apparently switched allegiances from Manchester United. It could have been worse, I said. At least it wasn’t Liverpool or Manchester City. I just couldn’t help the way it had happened…it just did, and there was no guilt. Man U had been a childhood crush, and I had grown. I was starting to settle in this area and this was just a natural, albeit late, development.   The season continued to exceed the Teesside public’s wildest dreams, with Liverpool being sent home with their fancy-dan tails between their legs after a 2-1 defeat, and both Manchester City and West Ham being soundly beaten, 4-1 and 4-2 respectively. In the latter months of 1995, Boro moved into the top 4 of the Premier League. There was many a double-take when people looked at the league table in newspapers around that time, and Boro fans had sore arms from pinching themselves.   Reality bit with cold, icy teeth on Boxing Day, as the (I would come to learn) traditional post-Christmas slump took hold, aided and abetted by an injury crisis. Middlesbrough went on a horrible run of a dozen games without a win, including a 5-0 annihilation by Chelsea and home defeats to Newcastle, Everton and Bolton Wanderers.

From being a team that was looking likely to qualify for a European competition, they sunk to being threatened by relegation. A couple of well-timed wins against Leeds and Sheffield Wednesday saw them rally, however, and Boro managed to finish the season in a creditable 12^th position.  The last day of the season saw the visit of Manchester United, who were crowned Premier League Champions after a thrilling chase to the line with who Sky seemed to believe were the nation’s second-favourite team, Newcastle United. The Geordies had been 10 points ahead at one point, but had caved under the pressure as a Cantona-inspired  United wore them down game by game, sealing the title with a 3-0 win at the Riverside. I don’t think too many Boro fans were angry about the home defeat that day, especially as it denied the barcodes the title. Much of the Boro crowd sportingly stayed behind to applaud the newly-crowned Champions.

Maybe they even dreamed of seeing that crown-topped trophy back at the Riverside Stadium one day. They had been dreaming of seeing a major trophy for such a long time. Would the Robson Riverside Revolution help make these dreams come true? 

Well what a week folks. My column last week got me hungry so went for the Korma with Pilau rice, chips, Garlic Naan, onion bhaji, veggie pakora and side order of poppadoms with mango chutney. Just the job for a growing lad like me (Think you mean “a fat c**t” – Ed) didn’t see my mate from last week mind, think that meal is just too slimming for him. Either that or the bumming went a bit Pete Tong. He should stick to pokey bu……..anyway, back to me column like.

Always excites me doing this as I never know who will be predicting. I hear a dull ringing in my ears, is this someone coming through – oh my God. It’s the one, the only, the legend that is Rolf Harris.

Rolf, this truly is a pleasure, what brings you here?

“Well I read your article last week and wanted to do this after what that prat Hart said. He reckons I’ve got the cloud next to him, I’ll be having words. Why would I want to be so close to a patronising git like him ??”.

Wow Rolf, you are coming through really clear, it’s almost as if you are still here.

“I am you daft bastard, I am on the other end of the phone.”

Dear, dear Rolf so much in denial about being dead.

“I’m still alive you freak. I am gutted that I have to do the Championship predictions though. Gutted for Middlesbrough, how did they go down with such a fantastic Aussie keeper?”
Who, Rolf – Brad Jones, Perths finest goal keeper, Bayswater Citys greatest footballer ??

“No you big galoot, Schwarzer. Jones is f*****g dingo dirt”

Er – Rolf, Schwarzer left about 18 months ago for Fulham.

“Well bugger me with a didgeridoo, I never knew that. May have to go walkabout and have a word with the drongo. And Fulham too, that’s just round the corner from the me latest Shiela I’m rattling, the luscious ginger haired minx Anne R ….. oooh I have said too much. Better get on with me predictions ……

“Well, it’s a ripper of a weekend in the ol’ Champo. Some real hum dingers to get the pubs full and my countrymen working. I’m expecting the home guys to make a real big impression here with all the top dogs providing a fair dinkum return on any wagers. The only ones to stop it will be those baggy boys who I expect will give their opponents a kick up the R’s. Hey, I made a joke there - eat your Hart out Tony (enough with the puns - Ed).

I see a good weekend for the Welsh sides too, only they can rival us for sheep worrying. Them and the Kiwis, but they don’t count. Draw wise I see League 1 as the best option, throw another Shrimp on the Barbie …..”

Thanks Rolf, you are so sadly missed, I hope you come through from the other side again soon.

“I’m sick of telling you I’m not dead you stupid c**t”

<click>

 Ahhh, he’s gone. All I can hear is a single tone, like the tone of the monitor when his heart stopped. Farewell, dear Rolf, farewell. And to all, you could get hit by a bus tomorrow, have the extra large kebab. Until next week …..

1995 was a big year for me as well as for Middlesbrough FC, but more on that later. This was the year that saw the collapse of the Barings Bank and the arrest of Rogue Trader Nick Leeson, the Oklahoma City bombing, the farce that was the OJ Simpson trial, the end of the Bosnian war and the arrival on the scene of a new digital medium - DVDs. “Toy Story” was top-grossing film of the year, with “Apollo 13”, “Casino” and “Seven” also placing in the top ten. In music, the Oasis versus Blur battle for domination grabbed the headlines, whilst Coolio‘s “Gangsta‘s Paradise“ was top selling single. In the world of sport, a young golfer called Tiger Woods won the US Amateur Championships, South Africa won the Rugby Union World Cup, Michael Schumacer won the Formula 1 World Championship and Ajax of the Netherlands won the UEFA Champions League.

 For Boro and for me, there were big moves and big changes. Boro started the 1995-96 season back in the Premier League and in their new stadium. I got married and moved to the magical, hall-of-mirrors landscape of Ingleby Barwick, essentially to be closer to my job for a firm of quantity surveyors in Stockton-on-Tees. My move north gave me even more of an excuse to follow the team that was slowly, but surely, gaining my admiration and affection. I felt at times like I was being carried along on the tangible tide of excitement and hope…something that seemed quite new to many people in the region. The people I worked with were ready to roll up the sleeves on their perple werk sherts and get Boro ‘a’oos on their aaaaarms.  The pre-season did little to dampen their enthusiasm with the arrival of Nicky Barmby from Spurs. This was a young, ambitious player with a bright future who had chosen to leave an apparently more glamourous team…not just some aging journeyman looking for a nice cushty pay-day. Boro fans were promised that more players like Barmby would be brought in. The fans just couldn’t wait to get into their spanking new stadium and get stuck into the likes of Man U and Liverpool.  Teething problems with access to the ground and a delay in obtaining a safety certificate meant a bit of a shuffle with the early fixtures, so Boro had to wait a few days more to play in the Cellnet Riverside Stadium. Even the curtain-raising friendly against Sampdoria had to be postponed until well into the season. Their first league fixture of the season was against Arsenal at Highbury in a televised match that saw Boro take a deserved lead before being pegged back by the hosts. A 1-1 draw away to the likes of the Gunners was a good, solid start. The following week, on Saturday 26^th August, the waiting was over… for Boro fans and for me. Whilst the Boro took to the field and saw off Chelsea with a comfortable 2-0 victory, I found myself getting married at a church in a small North Yorkshire market town under rainy skies…the previous five or six weeks had seen glorious, sunny weather. I only found out the result at the reception later, when some friends from work arrived on a mini-bus.

Well it’s Dave back again. I’m really getting back into this – looked forward to it more than my deep fried pizza kebab this lad introduced me to. Said to me “Ere slim (not many people can say that to me) get a load of these, it’ll put hair on your chest. Now I’m off to nosh my 3 down then bum someone senseless”. He was right they are lush but I can only manage 1. Dunno who he was bumming but they must have been slower than Julio Arca to not be able to get away from him.

Anyway after fashion took over last week let’s see who we can get through my crystal balls (damn that Alsatian) this week. Oh my god it’s art in the air this week with the legend that is Tony Hart.

 Tone, hows things ?

“How do you reckon they are I’m dead you thick shit”.

Whoa mate, calm down I was only trying to be friendly like.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been told the cloud next to me is “reserved for Rolf” and I ain’t happy”.

Oh wow, he’s popped over to a different cloud ?

“No numbnuts, he’s not dead yet, and on the cloud on other side I’ve got that annoying c**t with an emu on his arm, and a TV aerial up his jacksie”.

Poor Tone, you are still in denial about the loss of our national treasure, best leave you to the predictions ……

Okay this week sees red as not a popular colour and I forsee bad things for those wearing it - especially those in the north, that flash of ginger is soooo contemporary and does nothing for you.

Newcastle on the other hand are starting to Morph into a good side now leaving the rest of the pack to Chas them (thats the last I mention of that little brown f*cker, I could throtle my agent for getting that animated sh*t onto my show)

The gallery will see a cluster of draws, most of which are bad, but we have to show them no matter how crap they are.

As for the losers this week Take Hart and try to recover next week. At least you lot wont have to suffer a slimy Aussie for all eternity, well 23 teams won’t anyway ….. I hate that Harris ……

Thanks Tone, you need to chill out a bit though and lose the bitterness. Well that’s my lot for this week. Catch you all soon, and remember, the best medium is a Korma …..

 

Up until that point, Boro hadn’t really registered with me. I knew there was a football team there who were rivals with Sunderland and Newcastle. I knew they were seen as something of a yo-yo team that played in an old-fashioned stadium set amongst rows of terraced houses. I even remember their exciting cup ties with Everton in the 80s with all the replays and late goal drama. But that was essentially that. I was a Manchester United fan, following on from my dad. I say fan rather than supporter quite deliberately, because I always watched or listened from afar. I attended very few games of theirs other than the odd cup tie here and there.

I can’t say the attachment was a deep one, more like the loyalty one feels towards a kind of food or a band. Kids like me who lived in many places - army brats, for want of a better term - almost always followed teams like Man United or Liverpool, unless they were Scottish and the choice was between Celtic and Rangers.  Working with Teessiders was a baptism of roaring Wilton flare-stacks. I was a shy, quiet, Grammar-school-educated young man with a Middle Class accent thrown into the deep end of a working environment with people who had a wickedly sharp sense of humour and who pounced on the smallest of foibles in the name of banter and craic. I eventually learned how to give as good as I got and not take it too personally. Eventually.

 Football banter was always popular, and being a Man U fan made me a target for more teasing. I’m sure it would have been ten times worse had I professed a liking for Newcastle. As time progressed I learned more and more about the area, the people and the local football clubs and rivalries. I heard names like Archie Stephens, George Camsell and Wilf Mannion. I heard about the Anglo-Scottish Cup and Jack Charlton’s legendary team. I learned that Boro had achieved their best league positions just before both World Wars, and that there was allegedly a gypsy curse on Ayresome Park. What was impressed upon me was the real attachment local people had to their club. It wasn’t like following a franchise, this was deep-rooted and very, very important.

The local rivalries with Sunderland and Newcastle were passionate and forceful. I remember catching a hard-fought Boro v Sunderland game on Tyne Tees TV that bore testament to this fact. It wasn’t a world I knew much about, but the more I heard and saw, the more I wanted to learn.  In the background, things were afoot at MFC. The club had gone through a torrid period in the mid-’80s, flirting with complete oblivion in 1986 when the Ayresome Park gates were locked by receivers and the team had to play at Hartlepool’s ground and even train in public parks. A young local businessman called Steve Gibson came to the forefront as part of the consortium who saved the club from winding-up, and when he became Chairman, began putting his unprecedented vision for the club into action. This ambition was made tangible by the announcement of the construction of a new stadium on a patch of redundant industrial land near the river.

Thin, grey pieces of steel began to rise from the ground, slowly taking the form of a brand new all-seater, 30,000 capacity stadium. It was the first to be built to the specifications laid out in the Taylor report following the horror of Hillsborough in 1989, and the largest new stadium to be built for several decades. Boro were pioneers in this respect: many other clubs would follow suit, with the likes of Derby and Sunderland building their own new stadiums. As I drove past the site on the A66 on my way to measure holes in the ground in South Bank or Redcar, I watched the new stadium take shape with growing interest.   It was also hard to miss the way the club were moving in terms of team management and playing personnel, and in the summer of 1994 the Manchester United legend Bryan Robson was appointed player-manager of the team, and his former team mate Viv Anderson joined his as assistant. An all-too-brief stint in the shiny new, much-heralded Premier League during its inaugural 1992-93 season had obviously whetted the appetite, and Gibson wanted to move the club to the next level. Being a yo-yo club was old hat. The new stadium and the new manager were clear signals of intent. These moves captured mine and probably many others’ imaginations.   In the early years of the decade Football was becoming sexy and popular again after the hooliganism -scarred days of the ‘80s. England had failed to qualify for the World Cup in ‘94, but even the USA was getting in on the act with their razzmatazz soccer extravaganza. TV coverage was becoming more and more widespread, and the airwaves were dominated by Sky TV’s adverts featuring the Simple Minds’ song Alive And Kicking. Britpop and Cool Britannia were just in their infancy, and England would be hosting it‘s own international tournament in a couple of years, which was sure to make football even more popular. The future looked bright for everyone. 

 On a Tuesday night in August of 1994, I managed to convince my father to come and watch Boro play Manchester United in a testimonial match for Clayton Blackmore, the welsh full-back who came with Robson from United. We drove up to Middlesbrough and parked in the narrow terraced streets surrounding the compact ground. It was my first taste of Boro live, and my first time inside Ayresome Park.

We squeezed in through the narrow, antique turnstiles and made our way up to our seats. The smell of beer and pies filled the air. We sat high up in the main stand, and when we emerged onto the terracing to see the glowing green carpet of the pitch, with the noisy Holgate End to our left and the away fans in the East stand to our right, I was impressed. It was very different to the few United games I had been to. It felt more convivial and more authentic, and there was a definite spark of electricity in the air that night…expectancy was everywhere. The match was well attended, but ended up being little more than a pre-season work-out and an easy win for United, who were just at the start of the most successful period in their history under Alex Ferguson.

Of course, Boro were also at the start of something, and that night under the bright floodlights, I felt a slight but significant shift in my feelings.  The following season saw these feelings shift more and more. Heightened interest turned into genuine keenness to see the games and watch their progress. Something special was happening, and it seemed the team were destined to play their first season in their new stadium at the top level of English domestic football, back in the Premier League. Boro played their last season at Ayresome Park to increasing crowds and heightening expectations, and promotion was sealed in the last game at the old ground on 30^th April, 1995 with a 2-1 win over Luton Town. There was a real party atmosphere, and it was an emotional farewell to the stadium for the fans who had stuck by the team during the last decade; the closing of a chapter in the club’s history, but also the opening of a new, exciting chapter for Middlesbrough Football Club. It was really just the beginning of the adventure.

Episode 1

By Little Jimmy (he’s the bloke in shorts on the picture)

1970 to 1989 - Before Boro

Nobody chooses to support the Boro; you are born to it. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard or read this phrase since I started following the fortunes of Middlesbrough Football Club. I know it’s not strictly true, but I rarely argue with anyone who says it. It’s one of those generalisations with some foundation, but which isn’t completely factual. The truest part of it is that people do not choose to support Middlesbrough FC in the same way they might choose to support the likes of Manchester United, Chelsea or Liverpool.   The vast majority of people who support the club either hail from the Teesside area or have parents from there and have been brought up with the belief that only one football team in the world matters, above even the national team. In many cases this indoctrination sticks fast. Of course, there are kids from the area who decide, in defiance of family and friends, to support the more glamourous, successful clubs and who wear their replica kits at every opportunity. For these parents whose children go against their grain, there is still the hope that they might grow out of being a “glory supporter” and start follow their hometown club. On the flip side of the coin, I can’t imagine you would find many children in the playgrounds of Toxteth, Salford or Acton wearing Boro strips. I am probably classed as a very rare breed, and I don‘t mean a Middle Class liberal in Thirsk. I am a Boro supporter who isn’t from Teesside, and didn‘t feel compelled to support them through parental pressure.  I was born in the most northerly town in England where the local team play in the Scottish Third Division and where haggis is eaten more than once a year. Somehow - I think fortuitously -  I ended up becoming a supporter of Middlesbrough in the mid-‘90s.

I became an anti-glory supporter and personally speaking, I think I jumped on the Boro rollercoaster just at the right time…just as it was about to climb into the dizzying, rarefied air of what - for the Boro - was the stratosphere. If anyone’s to blame for this, it’s probably the man from the Army careers office who came to see my father when he was wondering what to do with his life. He was at a point where he had narrowed the options down to either life as a policeman or life as a soldier.

The Army sent a man to talk to him; the police didn’t. My dad joined up and went for training, and before long his young family were moving to West Germany. I only lived in the town of my birth for just over 2 years, and soon became accustomed to a nomadic existence; moving to a new posting every 3 years. Most of the next 17 years was spent living in various places in Germany, punctuated by secondary education in a North Yorkshire boarding school and 2 short postings to UK bases.  My father was a football fan (Manchester United were his team, he began following them in the late 50s when he was himself a boy) and he gave me my first taste of the beautiful game in the divided city of Berlin in the late 1970s.

I had watched some of the ‘78 World Cup on our tiny TV, but this viewing experience was completely overshadowed when my father took me to watch Hertha Berlin playing SC Hamburg at the Berlin Olympic Stadium. I was immediately captivated by the scale of everything.  Becoming part of something bigger than yourself could be quite overwhelming at the age of 8 or 9, especially when it’s in such an historic and frankly vast venue. I wasn’t afraid, I just watched the game with growing fascination, listened to the moans, groans, shouts and cheers of a football crowd, tasted the cold half-time bockwurst in stale bread and just enjoyed every minute of actually being there, completely immersed in it rather than just watching it on a little flickering screen. Kevin Keegan played for Hamburg, I remember, and with his hairstyle was easily spottable, even from the back of the stands. I think he scored as well.  When we moved to different places, we endeavoured to find a local team to watch, be it a top flight professional club or a semi-pro outfit playing to small crowds in a tiny stadium. Televised football was thin on the ground, rather than the wall-to-wall coverage we enjoy today, especially anything from England.

The British Forces Broadcasting Service (BFBS) linked up with the Radio 2 Saturday afternoon coverage, so we managed to hear the results and catch the occasional commentary on a United game. During my time at boarding school in England I managed to see some televised games. There was always a big crowd in the TV room for the FA Cup Finals and World Cups. I remember the buzz of Cup Final days, with the coverage starting around noon on one or even both main channels; the teams arriving and walking on the pitch in their best bib and tucker; the early summer sun blazing in a brilliant blue sky; the military band on the pristine Wembley pitch; Abide With Me…it was a real occasion. There were some cracking finals in the ‘80s: Man U v Brighton, “Smith must score,” and the replay…Everton v Watford…Coventry v Spurs and Houchen’s diving header…Man U beating Everton with Norman Whiteside’s wonder goal in extra time after Kevin Moran’s sending off…too many memories, and more than just a handful of teams competing, even if the cancerous undercurrent of hooliganism was a significant problem.

I also have some vivid memories of the 1986 World Cup Finals in Mexico, with the pitches permanently bathed in sunshine and England’s valiant effort after the dreadful start in the group stages. I can still see Lineker’s agonising lunge for Barnes’s second cross in the Hand of God game…so close yet so far.  My dad’s final posting was to North Yorkshire in 1989, the same year I left school. I entered the wonderful world of working for a wage, finding gainful employment with a construction firm in Darlington. A year later the recession took hold and the company shed a third of the workforce. I was one of the unlucky third, but was lucky to find another job fairly quickly with an engineering firm in Middlesbrough. I ended up working in Teesside for the next decade, and after I got married, also lived there  I didn’t know it back in 1990, but the seeds were being sown. 

Anyroad, I’ve been keeping up the diet to keep my figure in shape (is “round” a shape?). All I need now is a decent internet stream  and lets get on with the football.

There’s a stirring in my waters, and no it’s not last nights cabbage and sprout balti. I think we have a visitor….. it’s “Mcqueen”…. Hollywood Legend Steve ??? No …. ex Man U defender Gordon, ne he’s not dead, just on his 9th pint of lager in the The Bull in Yarm ??? No, oh it’s only Ace fashion designer Alexander. Alex, what are you doing here?? you’re not even cold yet?

“Well Dave, I wanted to thank my fans for their support over the years and their glowing tributes. Plus there is always someone on here always talking about being bummed senseless by others so I thought I’d check it out.”

“You were found hanging in your wardrobe – like most of the clothes you designed eh ? ”

“Don’t get smart with me or I’ll send Lady GaGa round. GaGa’s a real mans man – smash your fookin’ face in he will, she will, you know what I mean”.

“Erm … moving on then - the last thing I want is a beating from the alledged man beast of pop, over to you for this weeks predictions.”

“Well the colours of the season are black and white, though I wish the fans would wear pastel, just not that awful “Only Gay In The Village Yellow” though. The Geordies will continue their power up the table and their points total will grow as fas as their waistline.

Their local rival should ditch the red and go for brown according to the strange bloke in the corner of the train. Used to drive me mad he did, spent the whole journey mumbling “ginger … scot …. wrecked … club … git …. kept … mate … gareth” over and over and over. Enough to make someone top themself. Hang on, I did, silly me. Anyway, I see no luck for the team in Red this weekend.

Plymouth’s green is a very ‘in’ colour and deserves more than the donkeys parading in it, BUT the true blue will conquer them.

I’m predicting a draw in the brightest game of the day … Scunthorpe v my old mate Eltons team - Watford - a real plethora of colour.

As for the rest - stay at home on Saturday, it’s best for value. And Sunday is one for the away team as the bristols sag again.”

“Thanks Alex, are you enjoying heaven, so where are you off too now ? ” I’m off the Stephen Gatley’s cloud for a pool party. It’s great there we all get to use Stuart Lubbock as a lilo”

“Um ….. On that note I’ll leave you - until next time, and remember mines a large not a medium.”

Gibbo has despatched his loyal servant Keith Lamb to hunt down a little Scotsman going by the name of Wee Gordon Strachan (or as local female reporters called him, Wee chewy c**t).

Lamb has made the initial contact and has arranged to meet Strachan in a service station just off the M1 (one of those old style roads).

Gibbo is sat in his 2up, 2down on the isle of Jersey awaiting a progress report from Lamb , when his phone rings –

Gibbo – Now Lamby, is he there yet ?

Lamb – No Boss, I’ve just got here and I’ve positioned myself so I can see when he’ll be here.

Gibbo – Keith, are you stood in the ladies again, you know what the court order says ?

Lamb - No boss !!!!

Gibbo - Good lad, now remember, tell him how he’s our number one choice and do not mention your hatred of ginger

Lamb - Whoooaaa, is he a f***ing ginog like ?

Gibbo – Did I not tell ya ? Eee must have slipped me mind….anyway I prefer the term “strawberry blonde”

Lamb - Awww boss, you know I don’t like ginners ever since that bird made me do stuff to her when I was 16

Gibbo – Shurrup whining yer tosser, anyway how is your Auntie Mavis ?

Lamb – F**k off boss. And then you signed that Stamp just to wind me up, knowing farn well he was s**t and to cap it all you then turned down Terry Venables for the managers job just so you could employ another ginog in Mclaren, just to wind me up, yer nowt but a t**t

Gibbo – Ok, ok, I’m sorry, now will you stop moaning now ?

Lamb - Fair do’s………….. ….So he’s ginger, sorry “strawberry blonde”, how else will I recognise the gadgie ?

Gibbo - He’s not the tallest bloke like…..

(Lamb interrupts)

Lamb – Ere Boss, you’ll never guess who’s just walked in here, O my God I can’t believe it, go on have a guess…

Gibbo – How the f**k do I know when I can’t see you doyle ?

Lamb - I’ll give you a clue, used to be one of the blokes in a Jock comedy ….

Gibbo - Is that it ?

Lamb - His Dad in the show used to be a right scruffy t**t, wore a string vest.

Gibbo – Gordon Brown ? Oh hang on, hang on………………GASH !!

Lamb – That’s the one !!……Erm no its not they’re a bit closer now. O my God you’re not going to believe who it is….

Gibbo - Who is it ??…….. Who is it ????

Lamb - Remember that double act where a weirdo bloke had his missus dressed as a school boy……Awww what were they called again…..

Gibbo - S**t, I know who you mean Lamby…….THE KEEGANS

Lamb – Not them for f***s sake, and anyway she used to make him dress up..

Gibbo – Good point well presented Lamby, lets think………..Ahhh gorit The Krankies

Lamb – That’s them, well its defo him like…..or is it her ??

Gibbo – Get his (or her) autograph for us mate…..

Lamb – Hang on, he, she, it is walking towards me, O my god, hang on it wants to talk to me, two seconds boss……..

stranger speaks

GS - Och, are yoo Kerth Lamb ?

Lamb - Yes, I’ve always been a fan of yours ever since I was in my early twenties

GS – Eh ? I’m Wee Gordon.

Lamb – And ? Anyway Gordon who, I thought you were called Jimmy

GS – Jimmy ? <pauses> Och don’t set your lip up Big Man

Gibbo screams down phone

Gibbo – Gordon f***ing Strachan Lamby, you thick get

Lamb - Sorry Gibbo, what did you say….

Gibbo – I can hear and that’s Strachan, Jesus wept…………

Lamb – Ahh I see………*turns to speak to GS* Sorry about that Gadge, I thought you were one of those Krankies

Thwack

Sound of phone bouncing on a carpark and a distant “me doze, you’ve broke me doze, yah ginger c**t yev broke me doze”

GS – Aye Gibbo, I’ve just Glasgee kissed yer man, I think we need to have a chat big man..he’s need a spell in A&E, dinnae let this happen again…………

Gibbo - Errmmmm, yes you’re right, ermmm I’ll ring you back……..

How one man with a fitsful of rail tickets is trying to save our season

With his determined efforts to turn Celtic into a five-a-side team, Gordon Strachan has certainly put his own stamp on the Boro squad during his first transfer window as manager. Seven players have come in, presumably after stringent medicals confirmed they were indeed “men”.

Scott McDonald is the headline signing. At a smidge over £3million, the Aussie is an expensive purchase by Championship standards. Bitter experience has taught us to be wary of expecting January acquisitions to suddenly solving our goalscoring issues, even before the official website recklessly described the new man as a “goal machine”. At least we won’t need a new banner…

McDonald will be under immediate pressure to score as Strachan’s other new strikers come with less than prolific records. Chris Killen has provided a physical presence up front but rarely looks likely to score – the Gazette will have to keep their ‘Killen in the name of’ headlines under wrap for a while yet. Lee Miller looks to have been recruited for a similar role.

 The midfield has had an injection of Celtic blood too. Barry Robson has made an encouraging start, brainless sending off aside. Robson and Gary O’Neil should be able to a bit of nous and organisation to an area of the pitch that, even being generous, has been fundamentally knackered for well over a year.

The sale of Adam Johnson does, however, leave the squad short of creativity. One flank is likely to be taken up by Willo Flood – but despite his surprising tenacity, he looks unlikely to add many goals, at least on purpose. Johnson’s spot on the left has been vacated and in the short term, I fear Strachan will turn to Julio Arca. As a foursome, it looks stodgy and one-paced. Strachan must add a more attacking element on loan before the month is out.

The defence has looked sturdier in recent weeks with David Wheater finally taking some small steps back towards the kind of form he showed in the early months of his career. The nervous and tentative partnership with Sean St Ledger has thankfully been terminated but a permanent partner has yet to be established. Further upheaval seems inevitable as Strachan tries to cement Stephen McManus at the heart of the defence.

Changes at full-back look on the cards too. Every time Tony McMahon shanks the ball ten rows back,I die a little inside. He makes me profoundly unhappy. In that context, the short term signing of Kyle Naughton, an astute acquisition anyway, becomes even more commendable. On the other flank, Justin Hoyte has been occasionally uncomfortable but on the whole down has done a solid job in an unfamiliar role. With Joe Bennett consigned to the naughty step, Boro have a range of options with Emanuel Pogatetz and Jonathan Grounds both capable of filling in, looking a bit awkward and wishing they were playing in the middle.

As a squad, Boro are stronger than at the beginning of January. The loss of Johnson was a necessary price to pay to plug the gaping holes in a squad that was broken. Even so, Boro need to improve quickly if a play-off place is to be won. The team looks well-equipped to maintain the decent away record on the basis of an improving defence and a workmanlike midfield. However, the fear remains that Boro lack the pace or imagination to break down opponents at the Riverside. Until playing at home becomes an advantage again, Strachan’s Boro are going nowhere fast.

Well my spirit guides are bringing something forward, Oh my God, it’s none other than the Essex Egghead herself, Jade Goody.

Ear, wots appenin – bet you lot missed me. Big Bruva just ain’t the same wivart me. Wots Jack (Allegedly… Ed) bin up to the dirty barstard. I knew it was a mistake introducing him to Maaalon King and Bling Dyer (Allegedly…Ed). I bet vey gave im sum coaching. I know I told im e cud shag arand after I popped me clogs but e shud at least ask first, they arent all big slappas like me you know.

Wot u want me to do, predict the football scores ? I dont know nuffink abart football so I will say Sarfend will win. I like Sarfend it’s the only place I’ve seen a worse packed kebab than mine. Wot you mean Sarfend aint in this league, who is in this league anyway?? Middlesbara ? They are in the middle of the country aint they ? Ooo vey playin, Ipstich – I dunno where vey are from so I fink vey will lose.

Coventry – is vat where no one speaks or where everyone gets sent ? Anyway they will lose vey are playing a place named after tits so vey av no chance.

I fink I will stick and say the suvern teams will win like West Brom and Preston. Watford are norverners they will lose. I ate norverners. Its coz of them I got booted off celebrity Big Bruva. Fancy taking Shettys side ova me. Bastards. 

I fink Doncaster will win too if they are playing a bunch of libra …… librarrr …… people who work wiv books. Oh I recognise Crystal Palace they r close to Landan so I fink they will win too. An Blackpool I did panto there so they shud win too. Not too far from me on the sarf coast is Blackpool.

As for the rest just say neiver team will win or lose. Or vey might. Oh I dunno wots wiv all the questions. You know I’m no good wiv them.

The spirits are pulling back now. Thanks for that Jade, god I feel as thick as pigshit now. I just hope we can get someone with a brain next week.

Until then, remember if I’m a medium Steve Wright is an extra small. Toodles ……