The moment the rot set in

 A few weeks ago we were riding along on a very slight, but decidedly noticeable positive wave.  We had finally beaten bloody Leamington.  We had overhauled Spurs again as top all time FA Cup goal scorers.  We had just registered back to back home crowds of over a 1000.

But, at twenty minutes past four on Saturday 16th October it all started to go wrong.  Poppies-style wrong.

We were 2-0 up against bolshy Buxton and had spent the first fifteen minutes of the second half camped inside their penalty area. A combination of poor finishing, poor luck and a couple of great saves kept us from getting 3, 4 or more against the Derbyshire upstarts.

Then everything turned to sh*te.  

A few minutes later we'd gifted Buxton a way back into the game, then shipped a 94th minute penalty.  The Buxton gob-shite manager, in one of his last actions at the club, turned out to have called the tie annoyingly perfectly.  He said they'd draw at Latimer Park and spank us on their own heavenly pitch.  Which they did,  And did.

We followed up the spanking at Buxton with a dose of covid, allied with the upset of having the manager possibly leaving.  Then an abject surrender to Darlington where we seemed to want to prove all of our naysayers right by kicking every ball long and every opponent longer. 

Finally we manage to succumb to Scum-lite.  Sure, it's in a cup tie no-one was really interested in, but it's still a loss to the pointless ones from down the road.

So, the rot has set in.  Tomorrow we play at home to Blyth Spartans who have lost their last eight games to leave them second bottom of the League but perversely only three points behind us.  Nothing less than a win, and a convincing one will put us back on some sort of track.  Dropped points, or even, heaven help us, a defeat and it could shape the rest of the season.  Goodbye challenging for the Play-Offs.  Goodbye four figure crowds.  Hello rapid turn-around of players.  Hello season of struggle.

Until the next lockdown of course.....

Worringly, this may be how our strikers view the 
Spartan defence tomorrow....

Get your votes in quick!

 

Football Focus on BBC1 presently are looking for suggestions for a name for this brand new Kings Lynn mascot.  Patgod have helpfully suggested "Lynn-bred money-grabbing cunty-bollox shite-hawk" and look forward to seeing if our idea finds favour.....

It's the future....

 

What's the point of installing a 4G pitch
that comes complete with sluggish pace and bobbles?

Basically Latimer Park without the enticing chance
of a postponement after 30 seconds of rain.

Cox NOT out for the lads

The recent attempt by Telford United to dazzle Coxy with an offer of a big budget, big stadium and unnecessarily flat playing surface thankfully come to nothing.   Who needs cracking facilities and a pitch where you are able to take your eye off a rolling ball for more than a nano-second, when you can work somewhere with smell of roasting Weetabix always in your nostrils?

Not Coxy, that's for certain.  No, Paul has elected to remain with little old us and look to continue his good work here and see through our 30th 5-year plan.  At least until he loses half a dozen games in a row and is shown the door of course.

Find a sexier photograph 
on the Internet.  I'll wait....

Should we be surprised that Paul's efforts here have caught the eye?  Even the enormously evil "Sauron" eye of a club as mighty and merciless as Telford?   So, he hasn't yet turned us into a title-challenging outfit, or Play-off hopefuls or even, to be honest, a guaranteed top half of the table team.  But if he's done nothing else Paul has turned the Poppies from an easy mark, readily destined for a swift return to the Southern League into a stubborn bunch of bastards against whom you had better be ready to scrap.  And from the lofty heights of the boardroom at the Bucks Head such fighting qualities must look pretty damn seductive!  And, let's face it, as a manager Paul has, other than during the ill-advised spell at hateful Guiseley always been a popular and successful gaffer.

Now Paul has committed himself more securely to the club we can finally admit that it is slightly seductive to know that your Manager is actively craved by another club.  And, if anything, it's even more tantalising when he prefers us to them.  

Our managers being coveted by other clubs doesn't happen awfully often does it?  Supporting the club too late to have directly experienced the early 1970's "Big Ron-Hysteria", and not entirely understanding the "Mick Jones-Mania" I can't recall many times our Bosses have been objects of affection for other jealous clubs.

Sure, Alan Buckley was tempted away after a good half season got us dangerously close to promotion into the Football League, but who amongst us would have been able to resist the siren call of Grimsby?  Likewise, Mark Cooper, being only human, couldn't be expected to turn down the chance to briefly manage the Posh in between Darren Ferguson's 14th and 15th stints at the club.

Is that it in the past 40-odd years?  Have none of our multitude of our half-time tea cup tossers ever been tapped up by an unscrupulous Chairmen watching their own clubs sliding down their division?  Well, yes, Graham Carr was unsuccessfully chased by the Cobblers for a return to the County Ground once they saw what a good job he was doing at Rockingham Road but told them where to stick it.

And while Gary Johnson has subsequently carved himself a more than decent managerial career it is doubtful that his defeat-soaked tenure with us gained him many interviews.  

Marcus Law hasn't resurfaced despite winning a title with his last effort here.

Morrel Maison is undoubtedly still awaiting Imraan's one permitted daily phone call.

John Beck didn't find launching balls with the Poppies a successful platform to relaunch his managerial career.

It's unlikely his tiny yet ruinous time with us will cover many pages of Graham Westley's forthcoming autobiography, "All Roads Lead to Stevenage."

And Gazza isn't entirely certain he didn't actually manage Kidderminster....

Fitting Powell into the Poppies jigsaw

 You only have to watch Callum Powell on the ball for 5 minutes to realise we have snared a rare talent.  It's been a while since we had someone who could run with the ball and turn defenders inside out at will.

So what do we do?

Invariably we play him at the top of the formation and aim balls 3-feet above his head.  But comfortably at forehead height for the hulking defenders he is playing against.  Often we seem to waste his talents.  Rather than feed the ball to his feet 30-yards out and watch the clodhopping centre-backs fall over trying to keep up with his twisty-turning.  The problem is, it sometimes looks as though Callum seems to think we're wasting his talents too.  We've all seen him head straight for the tunnel at full time if things haven't gone his way.  This never goes down well with the faithful.  

As a Poppies player you can have a complete sh*t-shower of a game, but you can redeem yourself by taking 30 seconds out of your afternoon and applaud the supporters.  We're simple folk and easily placated.

What we don't like though is a player who we perceive seems to believe they are bigger than the team.  Disappearing on your own down the tunnel at full time with a face like thunder is a quick way of going from Poppies messiah to Poppies pariah.

And that would be a tragedy for us as we've got a real talent on our books, but an equal tragedy for Callum who could very easily become an all-time, bona-fide Poppies hero.

More togetherness, like this please!

It's up for grabs now

So we’re up to 899. Or is it 898? And are Spurs actually on 900 or does that include 3 hanging chads which the recount will strike out?  And would any of this matter if Sam Banya hadn’t spooned that sitter back over his own head, defying the laws of physics, motion and slapstick comedy.

What started as a statistical curiosity is increasingly defining us. It is after all a pretty amazing boast to have, or have had. All time FA Cup leading goalscorers. I will admit I have put it out on the table more than a few times, usually when confronted with incredulity at supporting such a crappy little club. It does tend to impress.  And to the occasional smart arse remark like, yeah, but you come in so much earlier than the big clubs, the obvious answer is, and we go out so much earlier too.

If we can just nudge slightly ahead, and Spurs resist dumping Nuno, the record could be back at Latimer Park for at least another season.  This could start to feel like the Ashes, with the urn changing hands every few years, but with one party supremely oblivious of the other party’s claim on the prize – very much like the Ashes!  

Do not sack this man. Yet. 

Sense of humour alive in Leamington

 2.20 and we enter the stadium to the strains of "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen.

Well, I laughed.....