The Party’s Over....

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Bladeulike said:
...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...
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Better to have loved and lost that never loved at all...
 

blade53 said:
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.
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Snowflake said:
....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
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Well we have this summer, next winter and next summer to build a side capable of sustaining premier league football.
 
blade53 said:
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.
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The Championship may well be our natural level but if the likes of Stoke and Wigan can have 8 season's in the top flight im sure we can. I mean there are not really bigger clubs than us. Bournemouth had 5 years in the top league.
 
Of course relegation back to the Championship was always going to happen eventually but I do believe we are a big enough club to sustain Premier League football for a long period of time. After we got promoted in 2019 I was optimistic we could sustain it for 5 years before coming back down. Maybe next time we will stay up for longer than 2 seasons.
 
Flakey said:
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.
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Unless you are one of the big six then relegation will happen to most teams eventually.
 
Sobering to say that when I started watching the Blades in 1958/9 season we finished third in the old second division. Here we are some 62 years on and it looks like our position as a top half second tier club or bottom half first tier club is where we still are in the pecking order of clubs. 10 other clubs from that year are still second tier/championship clubs in 20/21. This shows how it is to get to the next tier AND stay there for any length of time.
 
Ridgeway Blade said:
Sobering to say that when I started watching the Blades in 1958/9 season we finished third in the old second division. Here we are some 62 years on and it looks like our position as a top half second tier club or bottom half first tier club is where we still are in the pecking order of clubs. 10 other clubs from that year are still second tier/championship clubs in 20/21. This shows how it is to get to the next tier AND stay there for any length of time.
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I was thinking along the same lines. My first games watching were early 60s so not much difference. Now here’s a question - does the fact we are still at the same level in spite of the fact that standards have inevitably risen over the decades represent standing still or making progress?
 
The party's only over till the next party starts.
 
Tynemouth Blade said:
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!
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Jake Richard Cuthbert said:
The Championship may well be our natural level but if the likes of Stoke and Wigan can have 8 season's in the top flight im sure we can. I mean there are not really bigger clubs than us. Bournemouth had 5 years in the top league.
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To be fair, I think Bournemouth were / are funded by a wealthy Russian. No other way you can fund Prem football when your stadium hold slightly more than a handful of beach huts
 
Jake Richard Cuthbert said:
The Championship may well be our natural level but if the likes of Stoke and Wigan can have 8 season's in the top flight im sure we can. I mean there are not really bigger clubs than us. Bournemouth had 5 years in the top league.
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And they'll probably have more than us in the next 15 -20 years as well, along with newcomers to the party Brentford who sign those skilful, creative, foreign, troublemaking types.
The stupid tw@ts, don't they know what their letting themselves in for with all this nice football bolox
 
Toronto Blade said:
If the Prince gets another crack at the PL he is going to have to find some investment.
If he wants to compete at the PL level he has to be able to attract players with a higher wage ceiling.
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for all the criticism of chris wilder on this site and im one of them although a big fan of his if he had had the budget for the players he wanted to bring in we wouldnt be getting relegated this season its a simple fact of life in the premier league and its getting increasingly harder for clubs that come up from the championship to sustain premier league status 2 out of 3 on average go straight back down
 

diode_blade said:
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....
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They did actually leave the championship party house at closing time on the dot. They've now moved further down the road to the house with the crumbling render and overgrown sad excuse of a 'lawn' that has an old vauxhall Nova up on bricks screaming "when I get this right it'll be as good as it was back in the 90s". The birds have tracksuits and Ugg boots (fakes at that) and a few people in the kitchen harping on about how they used to be something on the estate, even partied in the PL house a few years back but fell on hard times. They now slump on the settee wondering how they can get back there without thinking how they actually got here to start with.
 
Bladeulike said:
...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...
Click to expand...
Thats utterly outstanding!!!
 
Bladeulike said:
...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...
Click to expand...
The Prem is like the Hotel California in reverse.
 
Bladeulike said:
...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...
Click to expand...
No it isn’t.
Now we know where the party is and some of the rules in it, we can go again.
Walking away never does anyone any good, but in our case leads to League 1.
 
i loved the posts from bladeulike and blader when they were posted, a laugh and tear were both equally had.
Both were too bloody true
 
I’ve been to the Prem party in another world - it’s full of skeletal supermodels who ask you for Champagne at £500 a bottle.

I’m happy in Spoons with Sweaty Betty most of the time, but it’s nice to mix with the Hoi Polloi every few years - the only problem this last time was that Covid closed the best part of the fucking party down.

Forza Ukraine
 
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