Sean the Blade
Member
I’m really looking forward to the visit of the Dingles this season; they are, after all, well versed in relegation battles.
I recall the warm words of support offered to them during their hour(S) of need, and the grace with which they were accepted.
It is with this in mind that I shall watch the Dingles slouch down Shoreham Street, clad in worsted woollen suits, pit boo-its and their best pit caps. Older gents checking the time on their fob-watches whilst the younger Dingles run sticks up and down whatever railings they can find.
It will be a day to remember, when Sheffield’s colour drains to sepia tones with the arrival of the Tarn Army, as they point and gawp at the modern world “Yer see that son, that theer’s Medderall, its like Lambra burrit’s got shops that’re oppen”
“Wot’s that fatha?”
“That son, is a tax disc, posh folk ave em so thi can drive the cars outside ert Tarn, nar shurrup and play wi thi whip-n-top!”
As the PA announcer directs the visiting supporters to put their watches forward to 2011, the odour of dripping sandwiches and Potter’s pork pies will waft across the terraces, clogging arteries as it goes. “Fatha, can we gerra ‘ot pie at arf-time, can we Fatha?”
“The not ‘avin any of that foreign muck, tha’ll ave a cowd poo-erk pie like rest on us”
“Burr-am cowd Fatha!”
“Well tha should’ve put thi long shorts on lad, ere, ave a drippin sarnie”
Then, as the referee put his whistle to his lips to start the match, Jarvis presses ‘play’ on the tape deck of the 3D Super Woofer and a recording of Pete Postlethwaite booms out in his Warrington accent, and the great banner is unfurled.
It will be a truly awe inspiring sight, as 5,000 folk, 10,000 hands, 60,000 fingers grasp the sewn together nylon bed sheets, unveiling the crayoned image of a schoolboy offering two fingers to the crowd and the slogan ‘IHTIS’ and then one lone voice yells “Tha’s gorrit upside dahn clart ‘eads!”
“Well it looks all reight from under ‘ere!”
I recall the warm words of support offered to them during their hour(S) of need, and the grace with which they were accepted.
It is with this in mind that I shall watch the Dingles slouch down Shoreham Street, clad in worsted woollen suits, pit boo-its and their best pit caps. Older gents checking the time on their fob-watches whilst the younger Dingles run sticks up and down whatever railings they can find.
It will be a day to remember, when Sheffield’s colour drains to sepia tones with the arrival of the Tarn Army, as they point and gawp at the modern world “Yer see that son, that theer’s Medderall, its like Lambra burrit’s got shops that’re oppen”
“Wot’s that fatha?”
“That son, is a tax disc, posh folk ave em so thi can drive the cars outside ert Tarn, nar shurrup and play wi thi whip-n-top!”
As the PA announcer directs the visiting supporters to put their watches forward to 2011, the odour of dripping sandwiches and Potter’s pork pies will waft across the terraces, clogging arteries as it goes. “Fatha, can we gerra ‘ot pie at arf-time, can we Fatha?”
“The not ‘avin any of that foreign muck, tha’ll ave a cowd poo-erk pie like rest on us”
“Burr-am cowd Fatha!”
“Well tha should’ve put thi long shorts on lad, ere, ave a drippin sarnie”
Then, as the referee put his whistle to his lips to start the match, Jarvis presses ‘play’ on the tape deck of the 3D Super Woofer and a recording of Pete Postlethwaite booms out in his Warrington accent, and the great banner is unfurled.
It will be a truly awe inspiring sight, as 5,000 folk, 10,000 hands, 60,000 fingers grasp the sewn together nylon bed sheets, unveiling the crayoned image of a schoolboy offering two fingers to the crowd and the slogan ‘IHTIS’ and then one lone voice yells “Tha’s gorrit upside dahn clart ‘eads!”
“Well it looks all reight from under ‘ere!”
