Premier League Nonsense

I’ve always been apathetic about other teams’ derbies. Rotherham United v Barnsley or Southampton v Portsmouth can never really mean anything unless you have firsthand experience of the rivalry that exists between the towns pr the teams.

Although I have taken in the past to watching Sheffield United play on occasion it has been more a convenience thing; giving me an interest in games at new grounds for example rather than any real deep passion for the club; though I dare anyone who isn’t a Wednesdayite not to be stirred by the john Denver classic Annie’s Song being belted out full volume by the hardy few.

Bringing me nicely to Sheffield Wednesday. Apathy has always been my chief feeling towards them. Them and Everton for some reason. I can’t bring my self to loathe either but at the same time I have never entertained any interest in them.

But that changed, at least for Wednesday back in 1993. We had defeated them in two cup finals the previous season and to be fair they did have a pretty reasonable line up in those days. But our game there early in the new season, had we but known it at the time, presaged the futire of top flight English football. I came away from Hillsborough luxuriating in the three points but shaking my head at what had been going on pre match.

Wednesday are nicknamed the Owls. For that season they had a kit sponsor that featured a [uma which kind of lets that particular cat out of the bag. That day the club, much to the embarrassment of those present (or perhaps just me) went to town on the Owl and the Pussycat theme. The sound system was cranked up really high, deafening their mute home support, while a oversized stuffed owl and pussycat walked around the pitch waving at the fans.

The owl and the pussycat may have gone to sea in a beautiful pea green boat but that early 90s afternoon they were larging it up in South Yorkshire and the home support were lapping it up. It was cringeworthy as the announcer told us how they formed such a perfect partnership and they would stay together forever and the club would live happily ever after.

Looking back it seems an amateurish attempt at branding. On the day it was just plain embarrassing. From that moment on my apathy for Wednesday descended into apathy and I hope I never have to see them again.

Wednesday continued to humiliate English football. They had Tango Man. A large beer bellied gentleman of the sort we English apparently revel in. he would strip off his shirt, paint his body and go topless. As the team slumped he became more famous than the miserable players they signed to replace the likes of Waddle, Harkes and Bright.

People would return home from their games and be asked how Tango Man did.

Then there was the brass band. The mining communites of South Yorkshire were famous for their brass bands which allowed the rest of us to marvel at the fortitude and spirit of those grim northern toughties who would spend all week down t’mine then blow trombones and trumpets at the weekend.

That was fine. Yippee. In the villages is ok. But why oh why did they have to export the racket to football stadiums? Seriously, many fans know what to do at games, they don’t need some Salvation Army types blowing and banging on cue to generate some support. It’s embarrassing. And it’s choreographed.

Which brings us neatly to where football is today. A choreographed business where anyone who breaks the unwritten rules is jumped upon by a hungry pack of media, fans and pundits. The players come on the pitch, line up, wave, shake hands with their opponents, wave then trot dutifully to their ends. When someone breaks that mould, like Suarez at Old Trafford, last weekend, then they become the biggest villain the country has seen since Camilla got between Charles and Diana.

Sheffield Wednesday have much to answer for!

# posted by Me @ 4:28 PM