stringjunior
A Stringer original
What started out as a surprise late opportunity to make an away game turned in to an evening with almost no entertainment whatsoever.
Mrs SJ unexpectedly had a mate round for some extra-curricular activities so I took to my trusty steed for the 35 minute trip round the M60 to see the Mighty Blades. And that was where it all started to go wrong. You see, the Mighty Blades weren't playing in Bury this evening. Instead the lilly-livered limes were playing, whoever they are.
I found a reasonable spot to stand behind the goal, near the back, but quickly realised I had Mr Shouty-Singy man and his pals immediately behind me. I should have moved. I didn't. And my ear drums paid the price, for the first half at least.
We didn't start too well but I was reasonably pleased by the positivity in the away end. Good noise (around me anyway), an unchanged side from the one which eeked out an unlikely win at the weekend, and JCR finally realising that you don't have to beat a man 9 times before crossing, and there was hope.
But it soon became a bit, meh..... The ball went from side to side with no purpose. Occasionally JCR would find space from his two markers, I'd wait for the cross, but then he'd pass it inside and I'd find myself longing for him to beat his man 9 times. Jay Mac did almost stuff all to support him, and when he did receive the ball back, played a sideways pass to, well, nobody really.
Then Bury scored.
Half time came, my fag got wet, I couldn't be arsed queuing for a pie so went back to my seat to find Mr Shouty-Singy man had moved. Good. A quick, half hearted rendition of the GCB and away we went.
And so it began. The turgid, pathetic, boring passing from side to side with no attacking intent whatsoever. Apparently Bill Sharpie came on at half time but you wouldn't have known. The ball never got anywhere near him. And then we'd pass the ball sideways again when all somebody had to do was stop, look up, realise that Bury are crap, and run at them. Put them under pressure. Even Beardy didn't have more then 1 run at them. Pathetic. And turgid. And boring.
Then the fans got more and more agitated and started with a few sarcastic cheers for more sideways passing and long balls down the wings doing nothing other causing the receiving player problems controlling it.
George Long had a good game, thank goodness, otherwise we could easily have lost 3-0. At Bury. In League One.
As the game finished I wouldn't have been too amazed if some seats were flung at the lilly-livered limes, such was the anger and frustration among our fans. As it was I think the players got away quite lightly with boos and some animated gesticulating.
Then I fell over. My toes were so cold they were no longer able to keep my 16 stone of pure muscle in perfect balance. Marvellous. It looked like that would top off a perfect evening perfectly, but it was outdone by the ketchup escaping my burger and running down my new coat on the way back to the car.
That cheap, overly sugary, tomato based condiment showed more attacking intent than 11 footballers in Bury this evening. I should have stayed at home, put my feet in an ice bath and burned £22. The pain would have been over much more quickly.
Mrs SJ unexpectedly had a mate round for some extra-curricular activities so I took to my trusty steed for the 35 minute trip round the M60 to see the Mighty Blades. And that was where it all started to go wrong. You see, the Mighty Blades weren't playing in Bury this evening. Instead the lilly-livered limes were playing, whoever they are.
I found a reasonable spot to stand behind the goal, near the back, but quickly realised I had Mr Shouty-Singy man and his pals immediately behind me. I should have moved. I didn't. And my ear drums paid the price, for the first half at least.
We didn't start too well but I was reasonably pleased by the positivity in the away end. Good noise (around me anyway), an unchanged side from the one which eeked out an unlikely win at the weekend, and JCR finally realising that you don't have to beat a man 9 times before crossing, and there was hope.
But it soon became a bit, meh..... The ball went from side to side with no purpose. Occasionally JCR would find space from his two markers, I'd wait for the cross, but then he'd pass it inside and I'd find myself longing for him to beat his man 9 times. Jay Mac did almost stuff all to support him, and when he did receive the ball back, played a sideways pass to, well, nobody really.
Then Bury scored.
Half time came, my fag got wet, I couldn't be arsed queuing for a pie so went back to my seat to find Mr Shouty-Singy man had moved. Good. A quick, half hearted rendition of the GCB and away we went.
And so it began. The turgid, pathetic, boring passing from side to side with no attacking intent whatsoever. Apparently Bill Sharpie came on at half time but you wouldn't have known. The ball never got anywhere near him. And then we'd pass the ball sideways again when all somebody had to do was stop, look up, realise that Bury are crap, and run at them. Put them under pressure. Even Beardy didn't have more then 1 run at them. Pathetic. And turgid. And boring.
Then the fans got more and more agitated and started with a few sarcastic cheers for more sideways passing and long balls down the wings doing nothing other causing the receiving player problems controlling it.
George Long had a good game, thank goodness, otherwise we could easily have lost 3-0. At Bury. In League One.
As the game finished I wouldn't have been too amazed if some seats were flung at the lilly-livered limes, such was the anger and frustration among our fans. As it was I think the players got away quite lightly with boos and some animated gesticulating.
Then I fell over. My toes were so cold they were no longer able to keep my 16 stone of pure muscle in perfect balance. Marvellous. It looked like that would top off a perfect evening perfectly, but it was outdone by the ketchup escaping my burger and running down my new coat on the way back to the car.
That cheap, overly sugary, tomato based condiment showed more attacking intent than 11 footballers in Bury this evening. I should have stayed at home, put my feet in an ice bath and burned £22. The pain would have been over much more quickly.
Brilliant report!
