The Party’s Over....

[Bladeulike]

...it’s time to call it a day.

So after a decade of slumming it in sleazy bars and cellars we eventually got an invite to the cocktail party of the rich and famous. A gold edged invitation to mix with the glitterati and galcticos of the EPL. Yes, it was a bit embarrassing that we turned up with a crate of Peroni when all the others were bringing Dom Perignon but, hey, we are Sheffield United and we do it our own way. To our surprise we went down quite well at first.
A breath of fresh air to clear away the acrid, money induced halitosis of the ‘Big 6’ ( remember them? They were the ones that kept on chattering and laughing as West Ham ripped up the legal and moral rule book and consigned us to our own personal oblivion). Chris went down very well, quite the up and coming social star and darling of the media. Quite a crowd gathered around him and some of them even tried drop of the Peroni for themselves “overlapping centre backs? Really Chris, do go on, that quaint Sheffield accent really does turn me on....”. There was even talk we may get an invite to the super exclusive ‘European Room’ upstairs where the stench of money and exclusivity almost overpowers all sense of what football is about and who it is for.

Sadly , as the evening draws on, the heady expensive wine replaces the Peroni and goes to our heads. £18 million here, £23 million there, we didn’t care, this is the Prem party and we are havin’ a gooood time. “Chris, sorry to interrupt but those friends of yours in the corner don’t really fit in do they?” “you mean Oli and Lunny?? Nah they’re fine - let ‘em have a couple of drinks, they’ve earned it, now have you heard me speak about the importance of ‘pashun’.....?

The talk becomes more strident and repetitive, the crowd of people begin to drift away, Chris cuts an increasingly lonely figure. Even that nice Mr Klopp comments “isn’t he the chappy whose team is bottom of the league now.....he’s a bit, how you say, ‘gobby’ isn’t he?”

it becomes increasingly clear that we are beggars at the feast rather than in with the in-crowd. If we are to take our leave, then let’s do it with dignity and good grace. It was great to be invited and thanks for such a good time. Too late, Oli and Lunny are now so pissed they can’t walk in a straight line and have lost all sense of purpose and direction. “We need to go out the front door!” Yells Chris in a way that suggests he has had way too many and has completely lost the plot. We are firmly guided to the tradesman’s entrance, a party bag of parachute money stuffed into our coats and the party sounds fade to a dull, unintelligible rumble as the door shuts and locks behind us.. The outside chill hits us full on and sobers us up pretty quickly but a check in our empty back pockets confirms the fact that it was real and we have spunked over £100 million mixing with the rich and famous. We trudge down the drive hoping to get in at that Championship House party much further down the road. Behind us, the distinct sounds of a fat lady singing drift through the cold night air...

 

[Deaneandagana]

...it’s time to call it a day.

So after a decade of slumming it in sleazy bars and cellars we eventually got an invite to the cocktail party of the rich and famous. A gold edged invitation to mix with the glitterati and galcticos of the EPL. Yes, it was a bit embarrassing that we turned up with a crate of Peroni when all the others were bringing Dom Perignon but, hey, we are Sheffield United and we do it our own way. To our surprise we went down quite well at first.
A breath of fresh air to clear away the acrid, money induced halitosis of the ‘Big 6’ ( remember them? They were the ones that kept on chattering and laughing as West Ham ripped up the legal and moral rule book and consigned us to our own personal oblivion). Chris went down very well, quite the up and coming social star and darling of the media. Quite a crowd gathered around him and some of them even tried drop of the Peroni for themselves “overlapping centre backs? Really Chris, do go on, that quaint Sheffield accent really does turn me on....”. There was even talk we may get an invite to the super exclusive ‘European Room’ upstairs where the stench of money and exclusivity almost overpowers all sense of what football is about and who it is for.

Sadly , as the evening draws on, the heady expensive wine replaces the Peroni and goes to our heads. £18 million here, £23 million there, we didn’t care, this is the Prem party and we are havin’ a gooood time. “Chris, sorry to interrupt but those friends of yours in the corner don’t really fit in do they?” “you mean Oli and Lunny?? Nah they’re fine - let ‘em have a couple of drinks, they’ve earned it, now have you heard me speak about the importance of ‘pashun’.....?

The talk becomes more strident and repetitive, the crowd of people begin to drift away, Chris cuts an increasingly lonely figure. Even that nice Mr Klopp comments “isn’t he the chappy whose team is bottom of the league now.....he’s a bit, how you say, ‘gobby’ isn’t he?”

it becomes increasingly clear that we are beggars at the feast rather than in with the in-crowd. If we are to take our leave, then let’s do it with dignity and good grace. It was great to be invited and thanks for such a good time. Too late, Oli and Lunny are now so pissed they can’t walk in a straight line and have lost all sense of purpose and direction. “We need to go out the front door!” Yells Chris in a way that suggests he has had way too many and has completely lost the plot. We are firmly guided to the tradesman’s entrance, a party bag of parachute money stuffed into our coats and the party sounds fade to a dull, unintelligible rumble as the door shuts and locks behind us.. The outside chill hits us full on and sobers us up pretty quickly but a check in our empty back pockets confirms the fact that it was real and we have spunked over £100 million mixing with the rich and famous. We trudge down the drive hoping to get in at that Championship House party much further down the road. Behind us, the distinct sounds of a fat lady singing drift through the cold night air...

Tremendous stuff, sums it up perfectly.

But do you know what, in a perverse sort of way I used to enjoy hanging around sleazy bars & cellars, at least you could get in, the beer wasn’t too bad & at five minutes to three you were assured of seeing a 3pm kick off.

 

[Farnboroughblade]

Gripping stuff. The story had me on the edge of my seat. Ever thought of writing a book Bladeulike? 'The Life and Times of Sheffield United'

 

[Bladeulike]

Tremendous stuff, sums it up perfectly.

But do you know what, in a perverse sort of way I used to enjoy hanging around sleazy bars & cellars, at least you could get in, the beer wasn’t too bad & at five minutes to three you were assured of seeing a 3pm kick off.

...and I completely agree with you. Promotion was genuinely great and and the best of times as a Baldes’ fan. Let’s face it though, the Prem is a soulless and, after this season, a thankless place to be. Retain the nucleus of the good players, move on from false loyalties to players whose heart and legs have gone and let’s go again sadder, wiser and much better prepared

 

[blader]

Wilder is the bloke who invited you when you wouldn’t normally be somewhere like that. It’s a nice surprise to be there, you feel a bit out of place but feels like you’re in good company. However, there is always a sl get thought in the back of your mind that prefers a pint of mild at the regent, which you do look forward to.

Lunny is the bloke who made it clear he is going to another party soon, and doesn’t like this place. However, he’s Chris’ mate and you’re stuck in a round with him drinking double whiskey cokes at £16 a pop and he doesn’t even halt his anecdote to say cheers when you pass him the drink.

Norwood is a good honest bloke when he’s sober but literally 2 drinks in he’s slurring and you really wish he wasn’t there with you once the conversations get going with the posh birds who are actually willing to speak with you.

Didzy has the best clobber in the group by far, stands out in a crowd and people are drawn to him. He’s got great chat but just never closes the deal which lets him down over time.

John Egan. 8 pints. Stays with you at the bar all night. Top bloke. Will still be there at 7pm on the dot next Friday.

Basham - boot cut jeans, oversized polo but drinks espresso martinis and somehow pulls it off. What a man.

Bogle enjoys it until 10pm but wants to move on somewhere ‘a bit livelier’ once he realises there’s nothing for him here.

Berge has nothing better to do, but won’t be coming again.

Ramsdale drops his pint.

 

[MalmoBlade]

The PL might be a soulless and brutal place to be, biased towards keeping the big boys rolling along, but watch the purple-faced apoplexy on these boards if we don't show sufficient ambition to get back in there.

This party is over.........see you for the next one, and next time, bring some midfielders who can dance.

 

[Stretch]

Dissapointing that noone has extended the analogy to include Baldock, and him getting into agro for swearing at the bar staff, and then nutting one of the bouncers whilst they are dragging him out.

 

[Davalon]

Made me smile so gets a like from me.

Doesn't happen enough these days.

 

[raul]

 

[Snowflake]

...it’s time to call it a day.

So after a decade of slumming it in sleazy bars and cellars we eventually got an invite to the cocktail party of the rich and famous. A gold edged invitation to mix with the glitterati and galcticos of the EPL. Yes, it was a bit embarrassing that we turned up with a crate of Peroni when all the others were bringing Dom Perignon but, hey, we are Sheffield United and we do it our own way. To our surprise we went down quite well at first.
A breath of fresh air to clear away the acrid, money induced halitosis of the ‘Big 6’ ( remember them? They were the ones that kept on chattering and laughing as West Ham ripped up the legal and moral rule book and consigned us to our own personal oblivion). Chris went down very well, quite the up and coming social star and darling of the media. Quite a crowd gathered around him and some of them even tried drop of the Peroni for themselves “overlapping centre backs? Really Chris, do go on, that quaint Sheffield accent really does turn me on....”. There was even talk we may get an invite to the super exclusive ‘European Room’ upstairs where the stench of money and exclusivity almost overpowers all sense of what football is about and who it is for.

Sadly , as the evening draws on, the heady expensive wine replaces the Peroni and goes to our heads. £18 million here, £23 million there, we didn’t care, this is the Prem party and we are havin’ a gooood time. “Chris, sorry to interrupt but those friends of yours in the corner don’t really fit in do they?” “you mean Oli and Lunny?? Nah they’re fine - let ‘em have a couple of drinks, they’ve earned it, now have you heard me speak about the importance of ‘pashun’.....?

The talk becomes more strident and repetitive, the crowd of people begin to drift away, Chris cuts an increasingly lonely figure. Even that nice Mr Klopp comments “isn’t he the chappy whose team is bottom of the league now.....he’s a bit, how you say, ‘gobby’ isn’t he?”

it becomes increasingly clear that we are beggars at the feast rather than in with the in-crowd. If we are to take our leave, then let’s do it with dignity and good grace. It was great to be invited and thanks for such a good time. Too late, Oli and Lunny are now so pissed they can’t walk in a straight line and have lost all sense of purpose and direction. “We need to go out the front door!” Yells Chris in a way that suggests he has had way too many and has completely lost the plot. We are firmly guided to the tradesman’s entrance, a party bag of parachute money stuffed into our coats and the party sounds fade to a dull, unintelligible rumble as the door shuts and locks behind us.. The outside chill hits us full on and sobers us up pretty quickly but a check in our empty back pockets confirms the fact that it was real and we have spunked over £100 million mixing with the rich and famous. We trudge down the drive hoping to get in at that Championship House party much further down the road. Behind us, the distinct sounds of a fat lady singing drift through the cold night air...

£100m that we would not have had if we had not joined the party.
Be grateful for a season that most have not seen before and probably will not see again.
Remember there is no VAR in the Championship !

 

[Stevo]

Tremendous stuff, sums it up perfectly.

But do you know what, in a perverse sort of way I used to enjoy hanging around sleazy bars & cellars, at least you could get in, the beer wasn’t too bad & at five minutes to three you were assured of seeing a 3pm kick off.

I personally love a bit of 745 Tuesday night sleaze

 

[Bladeulike]

I see your point but its not Monopoly money. It’s £100 million + that we spent on a fancy dessert and chocolates rather than a main course and we still dont have a midfield. Definitely grateful for a fantastic four years of unprecedented success. Definitely disappointed that we didn’t learn from it and that, at the moment, it’s just humiliating. Championship here we come and I’m sure we will all be there.The Footballing Gods are already lining up a whole series of blatant offside goals against us that VAR woul,d easily have picked up

 

[bakeblade]

...it’s time to call it a day.

So after a decade of slumming it in sleazy bars and cellars we eventually got an invite to the cocktail party of the rich and famous. A gold edged invitation to mix with the glitterati and galcticos of the EPL. Yes, it was a bit embarrassing that we turned up with a crate of Peroni when all the others were bringing Dom Perignon but, hey, we are Sheffield United and we do it our own way. To our surprise we went down quite well at first.
A breath of fresh air to clear away the acrid, money induced halitosis of the ‘Big 6’ ( remember them? They were the ones that kept on chattering and laughing as West Ham ripped up the legal and moral rule book and consigned us to our own personal oblivion). Chris went down very well, quite the up and coming social star and darling of the media. Quite a crowd gathered around him and some of them even tried drop of the Peroni for themselves “overlapping centre backs? Really Chris, do go on, that quaint Sheffield accent really does turn me on....”. There was even talk we may get an invite to the super exclusive ‘European Room’ upstairs where the stench of money and exclusivity almost overpowers all sense of what football is about and who it is for.

Sadly , as the evening draws on, the heady expensive wine replaces the Peroni and goes to our heads. £18 million here, £23 million there, we didn’t care, this is the Prem party and we are havin’ a gooood time. “Chris, sorry to interrupt but those friends of yours in the corner don’t really fit in do they?” “you mean Oli and Lunny?? Nah they’re fine - let ‘em have a couple of drinks, they’ve earned it, now have you heard me speak about the importance of ‘pashun’.....?

The talk becomes more strident and repetitive, the crowd of people begin to drift away, Chris cuts an increasingly lonely figure. Even that nice Mr Klopp comments “isn’t he the chappy whose team is bottom of the league now.....he’s a bit, how you say, ‘gobby’ isn’t he?”

it becomes increasingly clear that we are beggars at the feast rather than in with the in-crowd. If we are to take our leave, then let’s do it with dignity and good grace. It was great to be invited and thanks for such a good time. Too late, Oli and Lunny are now so pissed they can’t walk in a straight line and have lost all sense of purpose and direction. “We need to go out the front door!” Yells Chris in a way that suggests he has had way too many and has completely lost the plot. We are firmly guided to the tradesman’s entrance, a party bag of parachute money stuffed into our coats and the party sounds fade to a dull, unintelligible rumble as the door shuts and locks behind us.. The outside chill hits us full on and sobers us up pretty quickly but a check in our empty back pockets confirms the fact that it was real and we have spunked over £100 million mixing with the rich and famous. We trudge down the drive hoping to get in at that Championship House party much further down the road. Behind us, the distinct sounds of a fat lady singing drift through the cold night air...

Good stuff and if you take off the Premier League rose tinted glasses, the Championship party down the road is actually a much better party

 

[diode_blade]

Good stuff and if you take off the Premier League rose tinted glasses, the Championship party down the road is actually a much better party

Ya mean the championship party house that the scrubbers live in and have been trying to get out of for about 5 years, whilst commiting benefit fraud and not being able to pay the heating bill, whilst asking their family members to cough up for 5 year bus tickets....then there erstwhile neighbours shoot past them, giving them a massive infeariority complex on the way and starting their decline, and move into the PL house....

 

[TJ blade]

The PL might be a soulless and brutal place to be, biased towards keeping the big boys rolling along, but watch the purple-faced apoplexy on these boards if we don't show sufficient ambition to get back in there.

This party is over.........see you for the next one, and next time, bring some midfielders who can dance.

And a couple of decent fucking strikers!

 

[IdLiketoRogerMoore]

...it’s time to call it a day.

So after a decade of slumming it in sleazy bars and cellars we eventually got an invite to the cocktail party of the rich and famous. A gold edged invitation to mix with the glitterati and galcticos of the EPL. Yes, it was a bit embarrassing that we turned up with a crate of Peroni when all the others were bringing Dom Perignon but, hey, we are Sheffield United and we do it our own way. To our surprise we went down quite well at first.
A breath of fresh air to clear away the acrid, money induced halitosis of the ‘Big 6’ ( remember them? They were the ones that kept on chattering and laughing as West Ham ripped up the legal and moral rule book and consigned us to our own personal oblivion). Chris went down very well, quite the up and coming social star and darling of the media. Quite a crowd gathered around him and some of them even tried drop of the Peroni for themselves “overlapping centre backs? Really Chris, do go on, that quaint Sheffield accent really does turn me on....”. There was even talk we may get an invite to the super exclusive ‘European Room’ upstairs where the stench of money and exclusivity almost overpowers all sense of what football is about and who it is for.

Sadly , as the evening draws on, the heady expensive wine replaces the Peroni and goes to our heads. £18 million here, £23 million there, we didn’t care, this is the Prem party and we are havin’ a gooood time. “Chris, sorry to interrupt but those friends of yours in the corner don’t really fit in do they?” “you mean Oli and Lunny?? Nah they’re fine - let ‘em have a couple of drinks, they’ve earned it, now have you heard me speak about the importance of ‘pashun’.....?

The talk becomes more strident and repetitive, the crowd of people begin to drift away, Chris cuts an increasingly lonely figure. Even that nice Mr Klopp comments “isn’t he the chappy whose team is bottom of the league now.....he’s a bit, how you say, ‘gobby’ isn’t he?”

it becomes increasingly clear that we are beggars at the feast rather than in with the in-crowd. If we are to take our leave, then let’s do it with dignity and good grace. It was great to be invited and thanks for such a good time. Too late, Oli and Lunny are now so pissed they can’t walk in a straight line and have lost all sense of purpose and direction. “We need to go out the front door!” Yells Chris in a way that suggests he has had way too many and has completely lost the plot. We are firmly guided to the tradesman’s entrance, a party bag of parachute money stuffed into our coats and the party sounds fade to a dull, unintelligible rumble as the door shuts and locks behind us.. The outside chill hits us full on and sobers us up pretty quickly but a check in our empty back pockets confirms the fact that it was real and we have spunked over £100 million mixing with the rich and famous. We trudge down the drive hoping to get in at that Championship House party much further down the road. Behind us, the distinct sounds of a fat lady singing drift through the cold night air...

Post of the year!

However, you missed the part where we soiled our own trousers and were the last to find out we had...

 

[Down the Channels]

Played that album on loop in '82.

 

[Grappler]

Wilder is the bloke who invited you when you wouldn’t normally be somewhere like that. It’s a nice surprise to be there, you feel a bit out of place but feels like you’re in good company. However, there is always a sl get thought in the back of your mind that prefers a pint of mild at the regent, which you do look forward to.

Lunny is the bloke who made it clear he is going to another party soon, and doesn’t like this place. However, he’s Chris’ mate and you’re stuck in a round with him drinking double whiskey cokes at £16 a pop and he doesn’t even halt his anecdote to say cheers when you pass him the drink.

Norwood is a good honest bloke when he’s sober but literally 2 drinks in he’s slurring and you really wish he wasn’t there with you once the conversations get going with the posh birds who are actually willing to speak with you.

Didzy has the best clobber in the group by far, stands out in a crowd and people are drawn to him. He’s got great chat but just never closes the deal which lets him down over time.

John Egan. 8 pints. Stays with you at the bar all night. Top bloke. Will still be there at 7pm on the dot next Friday.

Basham - boot cut jeans, oversized polo but drinks espresso martinis and somehow pulls it off. What a man.

Bogle enjoys it until 10pm but wants to move on somewhere ‘a bit livelier’ once he realises there’s nothing for him here.

Berge has nothing better to do, but won’t be coming again.

Ramsdale drops his pint.

I was smiling as I read that, and literally laughed out loud at the final line.

 

[Tynemouth Blade]

You could quite easily relate it to an episode of Only Fools and Horses, where The Trotters get invited to some 'posh do' and Del Boy, in his usual way, thinks he's made it and fits in by throwing around a few dodgy French phrases, while the rest of the guests look down their noses with distain while seeing what a 'plonker' he actually is!

 

[Bladeulike]

‘Mangetout Oli, mangetout’

 

[Deadbat]

...it’s time to call it a day.

So after a decade of slumming it in sleazy bars and cellars we eventually got an invite to the cocktail party of the rich and famous. A gold edged invitation to mix with the glitterati and galcticos of the EPL. Yes, it was a bit embarrassing that we turned up with a crate of Peroni when all the others were bringing Dom Perignon but, hey, we are Sheffield United and we do it our own way. To our surprise we went down quite well at first.
A breath of fresh air to clear away the acrid, money induced halitosis of the ‘Big 6’ ( remember them? They were the ones that kept on chattering and laughing as West Ham ripped up the legal and moral rule book and consigned us to our own personal oblivion). Chris went down very well, quite the up and coming social star and darling of the media. Quite a crowd gathered around him and some of them even tried drop of the Peroni for themselves “overlapping centre backs? Really Chris, do go on, that quaint Sheffield accent really does turn me on....”. There was even talk we may get an invite to the super exclusive ‘European Room’ upstairs where the stench of money and exclusivity almost overpowers all sense of what football is about and who it is for.

Sadly , as the evening draws on, the heady expensive wine replaces the Peroni and goes to our heads. £18 million here, £23 million there, we didn’t care, this is the Prem party and we are havin’ a gooood time. “Chris, sorry to interrupt but those friends of yours in the corner don’t really fit in do they?” “you mean Oli and Lunny?? Nah they’re fine - let ‘em have a couple of drinks, they’ve earned it, now have you heard me speak about the importance of ‘pashun’.....?

The talk becomes more strident and repetitive, the crowd of people begin to drift away, Chris cuts an increasingly lonely figure. Even that nice Mr Klopp comments “isn’t he the chappy whose team is bottom of the league now.....he’s a bit, how you say, ‘gobby’ isn’t he?”

it becomes increasingly clear that we are beggars at the feast rather than in with the in-crowd. If we are to take our leave, then let’s do it with dignity and good grace. It was great to be invited and thanks for such a good time. Too late, Oli and Lunny are now so pissed they can’t walk in a straight line and have lost all sense of purpose and direction. “We need to go out the front door!” Yells Chris in a way that suggests he has had way too many and has completely lost the plot. We are firmly guided to the tradesman’s entrance, a party bag of parachute money stuffed into our coats and the party sounds fade to a dull, unintelligible rumble as the door shuts and locks behind us.. The outside chill hits us full on and sobers us up pretty quickly but a check in our empty back pockets confirms the fact that it was real and we have spunked over £100 million mixing with the rich and famous. We trudge down the drive hoping to get in at that Championship House party much further down the road. Behind us, the distinct sounds of a fat lady singing drift through the cold night air...

Superb!

 

[The Crab]

There were a few problems at this particular Dinner party.

Norwood was asked to pass the Gravy boat, and kept finding the wrong person.

Lunny kept banging on about going to a better party, but didn't seem to have any invites so sat there with the lip on all night.

Poor young Rhian was keen to show us he'd mastered his party piece, but just as he was ready to show us he kept getting told to sit down again.

Didzy approached his food with a bit of class and panache, but when it got near his mouth he seemed to forget what to do.

Aaron was sent into the kitchen to bring the dessert, shortly followed by a crashing sound.

There was a bit of fisticuffs post Claret between McB and pommpey , Norwood aimed a left hander at Pomps but it hit a West Ham player, there weren't even any West Ham players there.

Lys was sent out for the Dessert..................

 

[Flakey]

I seem to remember that there was a 10 year plan from Chris and Alan, they never said there wouldn't be a few bumps and kickbacks on the way.

Even with the team we have, United could piss on most championship sides, but a few additions and improvements we could be back by 2022, and much wiser as well.

 

[Bladeulike]

I seem to remember that there was a 10 year plan from Chris and Alan, they never said there wouldn't be a few bumps and kickbacks on the way.

Even with the team we have, United could piss on most championship sides, but a few additions and improvements we could be back by 2022, and much wiser as well.

I agree and if I was clever enough to post those vids I would be putting up The Who’s “”Won’t Get Fooled Again”. That could be our theme song for next season. In fact in the case of some players, we could use it for the rest of this season!

 

[pommpey]

I seem to remember that there was a 10 year plan from Chris and Alan, they never said there wouldn't be a few bumps and kickbacks on the way.

Even with the team we have, United could piss on most championship sides, but a few additions and improvements we could be back by 2022, and much wiser as well.

£130m of bumps and kickbacks.

I can get it if some of his signings didn't work. Callum Robinson ... we kinda nodded and shrugged and figured that summat had gone on backstage and hence after a fairly promising start he was out of favour and we might want to swap with Billy Whizz with his boots on the wrong feet.

But signing Morrison, Freeman, Rodwell, Retsos, Zivkovic, Verrips as well as Berge, McBurnie, Sicknote, Freeman, C3PO, Jags, Ramsdale and Brewster as well ... tell me above Osborn and Lowe who has made any real impact apart from Bogle over the past two seasons?

They are all in and out of the squad, leaving us to fall back on a core team, some of whom played for us two divisions below and others who are absolutely not PL standard.

Wilder needs to hoist that in. We might be Playstation Managers, but most of us know a shit signing when we see it.

pommpey

 

[Tynemouth Blade]

 

[Snowflake]

I seem to remember that there was a 10 year plan from Chris and Alan, they never said there wouldn't be a few bumps and kickbacks on the way.

Even with the team we have, United could piss on most championship sides, but a few additions and improvements we could be back by 2022, and much wiser as well.

....but would we be good enough if we came back that quickly ?
I think we need 3 transfer windows to produce a side capable of performing in the Premiership

 

[Tynemouth Blade]

....but would we be good enough if we came back that quickly ?
I think we need 3 transfer windows to produce a side capable of performing in the Premiership

...and a shit load of monies!

 

[blade53]

Maybe we were deluding ourselves , but for a blissful time it felt like we actually did belong with the big boys and would grow into the league , improve the squad and become an established part of the elite. What we know now , is that we were punching way above our weight, got carried along on the crest of a wave , and without the financial backing that is needed have been horribly exposed for what we are. Its been a painful and humbling experience , and I for one can't wait for the season to end now , it can't come quick enough. The Championship is not the worst league in the world to be in and perhaps sadly it is our natural level.

 

[Bladeulike]

£130m of bumps and kickbacks.

I can get it if some of his signings didn't work. Callum Robinson ... we kinda nodded and shrugged and figured that summat had gone on backstage and hence after a fairly promising start he was out of favour and we might want to swap with Billy Whizz with his boots on the wrong feet.

But signing Morrison, Freeman, Rodwell, Retsos, Zivkovic, Verrips as well as Berge, McBurnie, Sicknote, Freeman, C3PO, Jags, Ramsdale and Brewster as well ... tell me above Osborn and Lowe who has made any real impact apart from Bogle over the past two seasons?

They are all in and out of the squad, leaving us to fall back on a core team, some of whom played for us two divisions below and others who are absolutely not PL standard.

Wilder needs to hoist that in. We might be Playstation Managers, but most of us know a shit signing when we see it.

pommpey

It’s not a great list now you set it out is it? I think Ramsdale will come good and is already showing signs but, honestly, with the shower of shite in front of him this season he hasn’t had much help. Berge looks like a classical trained dancer who joined Diversity rather than Ballet Rambert by mistake. All I can say about Mousset is that he used to have a nice car...that we bought for him. McB always gives his all out there - surely he will prove a handful for Championship defences? Brewster is in the wrong team at the wrong time, dropping a league could work wonders for his confidence. Used correctly, Burke will be potent off the bench against many defences. Bogle looks excellent and I do like Osborne. It’s not great but it isn’t all bad.

it’s all ifs and buts but with the return of JOC the line up for next year could still be very powerful in a Championship context. But they aren’t Prem players (with a couple of notable exceptions who may be gone anyway). I’m scratching my head as to what we want to be? At least we have a choice now - I think we can now be a smart, competitive Championship team and that certainly wasn’t the case a few years ago before Wilder. Unsure whether we will ever be a decent Prem team under Wilder but desperate to be proved wrong. We will see what lessons have been learned next season. I’m sticking with Wilder and a squad that hopefully benefits from its large portion of humble pie