Better Red than Inbred

Miss Irthlingborough 2009 cheers her heros to mid table obscurity

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Picture the scene. It was the last few moments of the 2007-2008 season when we had blown away the Conference North and stormed to a record- breaking promotion. It was a lovely sunny day and Rockingham Road basked like a contented seal. Cooper had just come on as a late substitute and won the game against Gainsborough with almost the final kick of the campaign.

At this moment one of our pop-side whingers, taking a break from bellyaching every time a Poppies attack didn’t end in a goal, turned to his equally moaning neighbour and said with utter sincerity and profound understatement, “Well, it ain’t been a bad season I s’ppose.” Not a bad season? What on earth was he comparing it to? Have we had other brilliant seasons recently which I have somehow forgotten? What would have constituted a “good” season for this sour-faced complainer? I fear nothing less than a couple of European Trophies and maybe a World Cup thrown in to the bargain. Even then I’m pretty certain these guys would have moaned throughout the entire victory-laden procession.

Hearing these words set me to thinking at what would satisfy these grizzled sourpusses the following season back in the Blue Square Premier. Obviously winning the league by Christmas would only appease them for so long. At the very least we should reach the FA Cup Final. Anything less and I wouldn’t have liked to be in their vicinity the following May.

Most normal supporters looked upon the coming season with just a little dread. The last time we popped into this division we were slapped down again hard and had to spend a season in the Ryman league by way of penance.

Most people, this season, would have plumped for staying up and beating the Direones at least once. In which case finishing ABOVE the Direones and getting to the 4th round of the FA Cup would make this an excellent season to all but the most hardened of our misery-gutted nay Sayers.

The fact that we didn’t beat a very moderate Direones was a disappointment certainly. The game at Non Park will live long in infamy for the way we didn’t trouble their goalie for the full 90 minutes. But when you think back just a few short years ago, when they were in what is now League One and we were going nowhere in the second tier of non-league oblivion, such a day (looking back a month later) can be put into perspective.

From the moment Griggs pulled the plug on the worlds most expensive hobby the Inbreds have been in steady and well-received decline. Within a couple of seasons they had tumbled out of the Football League, with no one giving that ridiculous club a second glance. Their army of die-hard, life-long supporters went back to what they were doing before the bright lights of Ithlingborough bewitched them. Some hopped straight onto the next bandwagon leaving from Milton Keynes. Some no doubt slunk back into Sixfields or even, God forbid, Rockingham Road. Still more went back to licking cabbages for a living and fondling their sisters for amusement.

A succession of excellent managerial appointments have walked into Non Park, promising the earth and delivering nothing except failure and relegation. This has brought glee to the rest of the footballing world. Well, everyone else with a “NN” postcode anyway.

Step forward Ernie Tppex, Barry Munter, Paul Tart, Graham Beastley and Benny Hill – Poppies heroes all. And good luck to Bussed into Edinburgh, who is already shaping up to be a worthy addition to the “Men who bolloxed up the Direones” Hall of Fame.