Bladeulike
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- Joined
- Feb 6, 2016
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…it is a sadly familiar feel as the Blades’ team stumble out of the Premiership party and into the cold night air for the second time in four years. Behind them , they can hear the sounds of the cleaners scrubbing and spraying air fresheners to confirm the view that we truly had stunk the place out over the season. The fat lady already left some time ago, grateful for an early night land departed with a with a cheery, but ominous, “see you again soon!”.
The car park is filled with the Lamborghinis and Porches of the uber-rich Prem players. Amidst the gleaming status symbols sits a small, rusting, rented mini bus ready to take the Blades players on their way to the Championship House located some distance down the road. The original intention had been to walk there but fear of further inevitable hamstring injuries had prompted Wilder to pay out of his own back pocket - “don’t worry lads I’ll get this, made a bit of a killing on a deal a few years back so I can afford it”. A few players are trying to calm down Grbic who is having a panic attack over the prospect of having to catch a bus “but I haven’t caught anything since I’ve been here” he whimpers…
There are a few unkind sniggers about Souza who is wearing his nylon replica Brazil shirt with a captain’s armband sown upside down on its sleeve. He is busy gesticulating and pointing the way to the bus but, as ever, no-one pays any attention.
The somber, silent, nighttime atmosphere is broken by the sound of screeching brakes and scrunching gravel as a flashy 4x4 roars into the car park. It is Anel’s dad arriving to pick him up. Anel is standing chatting with his fellow defence teammates and, for a few crucial seconds, they are caught like rabbits in the car’s bright headlights. Sadly, a familiar feeling for them all. “Jump in!” shouts his dad. “Been doing that all season!” Replies Anel as he leaps into the passenger seat. The cars revs up and in a flash he is gone without a single glance over his shoulder. It’s as if he was never here.
Brewster bounces into view, bringing all the optimism and enthusiasm that only a £23 million team mascot can muster. There is some concern as to whether the snapping sound Brewster creates as he bounces is just a stray twig in the car park or his Achilles tendon but all seems well and the six inch thick bandage of cotton wool surrounding his entire body seems to be doing the trick.
As the bus loads up, Wilder and Knill are reflecting quietly on the season. “There’s a couple of points I’d like to make…” says Wilder “Sorry boss - the EFL says we can’t appeal those and we have to start on -2.” Wilder heaves a big sigh, “If only people like Trusty could have risen better to the challenge” says Wilder, Knill replies “It’s not fair to criticise the guy when he can’t defend himself” The irony of his statement hangs heavy in the air and they both fall silent.
Then bus edges slowly out of the car park when an official comes running out from the house and flags it down, shouting “The cleaners have just collected some lost items they found scattered on the floor. There’s a bag of self respect, a box of belief and a pile of dignity - don’t you want these any more?”. Wilder ponders for a moment “do you mind forwarding them to our next address? We can pick them up again when we get there”. Wilder closes his eyes and Knill admires the fact he can sleep at times like this - until he realises Wilders lips are moving and he is fact praying……
The car park is filled with the Lamborghinis and Porches of the uber-rich Prem players. Amidst the gleaming status symbols sits a small, rusting, rented mini bus ready to take the Blades players on their way to the Championship House located some distance down the road. The original intention had been to walk there but fear of further inevitable hamstring injuries had prompted Wilder to pay out of his own back pocket - “don’t worry lads I’ll get this, made a bit of a killing on a deal a few years back so I can afford it”. A few players are trying to calm down Grbic who is having a panic attack over the prospect of having to catch a bus “but I haven’t caught anything since I’ve been here” he whimpers…
There are a few unkind sniggers about Souza who is wearing his nylon replica Brazil shirt with a captain’s armband sown upside down on its sleeve. He is busy gesticulating and pointing the way to the bus but, as ever, no-one pays any attention.
The somber, silent, nighttime atmosphere is broken by the sound of screeching brakes and scrunching gravel as a flashy 4x4 roars into the car park. It is Anel’s dad arriving to pick him up. Anel is standing chatting with his fellow defence teammates and, for a few crucial seconds, they are caught like rabbits in the car’s bright headlights. Sadly, a familiar feeling for them all. “Jump in!” shouts his dad. “Been doing that all season!” Replies Anel as he leaps into the passenger seat. The cars revs up and in a flash he is gone without a single glance over his shoulder. It’s as if he was never here.
Brewster bounces into view, bringing all the optimism and enthusiasm that only a £23 million team mascot can muster. There is some concern as to whether the snapping sound Brewster creates as he bounces is just a stray twig in the car park or his Achilles tendon but all seems well and the six inch thick bandage of cotton wool surrounding his entire body seems to be doing the trick.
As the bus loads up, Wilder and Knill are reflecting quietly on the season. “There’s a couple of points I’d like to make…” says Wilder “Sorry boss - the EFL says we can’t appeal those and we have to start on -2.” Wilder heaves a big sigh, “If only people like Trusty could have risen better to the challenge” says Wilder, Knill replies “It’s not fair to criticise the guy when he can’t defend himself” The irony of his statement hangs heavy in the air and they both fall silent.
Then bus edges slowly out of the car park when an official comes running out from the house and flags it down, shouting “The cleaners have just collected some lost items they found scattered on the floor. There’s a bag of self respect, a box of belief and a pile of dignity - don’t you want these any more?”. Wilder ponders for a moment “do you mind forwarding them to our next address? We can pick them up again when we get there”. Wilder closes his eyes and Knill admires the fact he can sleep at times like this - until he realises Wilders lips are moving and he is fact praying……