Who We Are?

The new manager is appointed, also his assistant, and a first-team coach. Reading between the lines, his old club did not want him to leave. So what drew him to S6? Did he have a friendship with Christ Brunt, when he was at West Bromwich Albion, did he hear stories of great games between the baggies and the owls.

Football is a cruel game; what happens now to the caretaker and his assistants? Is their short spell in charge sufficient to have them pushed on to the teeming scrapheap, of less than fully successful football men.

The coming days will see which regimes, and principles, are to be adhered to. As a fan, we move from the final dismal forty-five minutes on Saturday, to a Wednesday night game with a new beacon of hope.

A phone call to my younger brother fills in the gaps; apparently there is a rumuor that one of our old managers is going to becoming Director of Football, apparently he gave this new manager his first break into coaching. Circles. Wheels within wheels and all that.

Time Extended Time

An urgency to contemplate

Thoughts desperate for the words

It is as if it is still morning, as if

With the seconds dashing by

Are you misunderstood

You are misunderstood

Sometimes by others

But mostly by yourself

Yet the shadows

And the diary dates

Are the wheels

Which keep on turning

How not to be misinterpreted

On a lifetimes line of continuum

What with so many vantage points

From which to take a point of view

Necessary then the argument

Or discussion as some might name it

Yet the hurt lingers

Deeply questioning the purpose

Suffering of one’s own making

Inhibited by one’s own invitation 

Not then at any frontier

For not one can be reached

Instead the refuge

Of second-half goals

Which brought doubt then defeat

In more or less equal measure

An urgency born of anxiety

With time and space and memory

All but being turned out

In the slow scrawl of morning