The 2014-15 season:
All opinions expressed herein are those of either me, myself or I, three massively contradictory and very complex alter egos.
But I know what I'm doing and where I'm coming from... and so do we.
As self indulgent, often indecipherable and long winded summarisations go, this one is self indulgent, often indecipherable and long winded.
I have attempted to chart all of the twists and turns that I encountered and navigated along the way as accurately and truthfully as is humanly possible, but if you do feel personally offended or misrepresented in any way, then let it be known; I am not unduly concerned about you or your grievances.
Likewise if you're one of those shameless, witless and myopic 'tards who think everything you read on the internet is about you, or aimed at you, then you can bristle with indignation at this juncture, because this lengthy scatterbomb barrage of bewilderment, bafflement, perplexity, puzzlement, mystification, stupefaction, disorientation, befuddlement and scepticism is all about me.
Because, face facts, I am far more interesting than you... but deep inside, you already knew that.
So, without further ado...
|The origins of The 66 Parables of Wim|
THE66POW:This blog, has been severely neglected, almost to the point of extinction, for far too long now.
However, it may be on the verge of making an imminent recovery.
Only time will tell.
"Life is what happens when you're making other plans" n' all that, but I am currently, endeavouring to salvage something out of the wreckage of what once was, a prolifically tended to online journal.
The formula, appearance and template won't alter very much, but content wise, the whole thing does need some pretty serious remedial attention.
I hope to God I'm not as numb as you make out:
Well... "You've got to destroy, before you can create" said either Jean-Paul Charles Aymard Sartre (who by way of a totally unconnected coincidence passed away on my 17th birthday, which was quite a long time ago), or Pablo Picasso (who had already been dead for a week on the day I turned 10), or possibly even Joe Strummer from The Clash, or chief medical officer Leonard McCoy from the Starship Enterprise (AKA actor DeForest Kelley), or somebody else completely different altogether from outwith this grouping of guestimated suggestions.
But, back on subject; in order to move forward the time is right, to "Rip it up and start again" (that was definitely a quote from Edwyn Collins).
For the record, I do know Joe Strummer's real name is John Graham Mellor, and I vividly remember where I was the day he died too, but I didn't want to clog up the previous paragraph with unnecessary amounts of peripheral information.
But, in the main, the produce of my long winded lexicography and (often) intentionally spitefully constructed mytho-poetical word flow, all appeared elsewhere.
Because I currently have a myriad spectrum of other roles, away from the blogging kingdom, encompassing a juxtaposition of club duties and a top heavy schedule of writing for other outlets, projects and platforms, that all usurp the fruits of my viperous outpourings and occasional (forced) wit and satire.
Most of my output is ironic and tongue in cheek, but it also possibly requires the following statement to quantify it's existence: Don't ever believe anybody who peddles out the line that 'sarcasm is the lowest form of wit', because it isn't!
Underestimate the power of this beautiful and misunderstood art form at your peril.
Something had to give.
There are only 29 hours in a day and 9 days per week, when all is said and done.
So apologies to my staunchly loyal and faithful readership.
I thank you both from the bottom of my heart for waiting so patiently, for the pitifully few half baked crumbs of discomfort and insightful 'pearls of wisdom' that crawl out of the woodwork every once in a while via THE66POW.
Thinking on, I might from time to time, recycle some of the lovingly crafted and beautifully detailed prose that I have penned for other sources and incorporate it into this blog.
It has been said that some of my music reviews, political insights and papers on dealing with the long lasting aftermath of serious trauma, are real tearjerkers.
But football as a metaphor for life, is far more interesting than any of the above. Isn't it?
Another genuine reason for my lack of blogging over the past couple of seasons, stems from the fact that there were times, in fact many, many times, when I simply just didn't have the inclination to fanny about on my laptop, when I got in from yet another late night drive home. I'm getting old and need my three hours of sleep per night these days.
Nobody is twisting my arm, I do what I do out of choice.... no really!!!
But there really is (far) more to life than association football.
But only sometimes.
I sent you flowers, you wanted chocolates instead:
184 games in a season is an awful lot of football, or some might say, a lot of awful football.
But I would vehemently disagree with the latter.
Even when your chosen team is playing abysmally and getting turned over big time, it should always be part of a steep and never ending learning curve.
And unless you are one of those blinkered individuals (we all know a few), who actually thinks they know it all already, you'll understand exactly what I mean.
Given the value range, freezer section offal based products end of the football food chain that I circumnavigate, more often than not, when I am not on duty at Inkersall Road, Staveley, S43 3JL, one could probably expect a high percentage quota of the games I watch to be completely crap, but I was fortunate enough not to have seen too many howlers this season.
|On my way to meet Charlie George.|
But it was never really about number crunching for me.
Swings and roundabouts:
The highs and the laughs were, very occasionally, almost euphoric.
But (insert lightning crash sound effects to heighten the suspense here), there were also some other times too and, err... to be perfectly honest, they almost bordered on being soul destroying.
And I would be a big fat fibber if I didn't say, that there were a few stand out moments that saddened me and/or annoyed me in such a voluminous measure, that they counter balanced all of the good stuff and nearly tipped the scales towards an away win for the dark side.
But only nearly.
Working within a framework based around the theory, that if you don't get annoyed, or genuinely angry even, or banging a tin tray on your head style frustrated to the nth degree at times, it is because you don't care enough, then hey ho!
Count me in.
Been there, done that, got the ripped and torn t-shirt (the Dr David Banner moments are responsible for that).
Only look forward, think positive things, smiling is good for you etc. etc.
For purposes of clarification, I want it be to put on record, that none of the aforementioned friction and confrontation, occurred between myself and anybody I work with directly, or otherwise, at Staveley.
If you're one of those people who has cottoned on to the fact that it is possible to care too much, please spare me the unwanted advice, it will go completely unheeded and I am fully aware of just how close (and how often) I get to edge of the precipice at times.
But that is how I roll.
"I thought you'd listen to my reasoning
But now I see, you don't hear a thing
Try to make you see, how it's got to be
Yes it's all, all or nothing, for me"
Also performed by the Cycle Paths when they played in the Clubhouse at Staveley MWFC... and a very passable version of the Small Faces hit record their take on it was too.
Give 'em enough rope:
Certain aspects of the 2014-15 campaign will remain with me as vivid memories for quite a while... and not necessarily for the right reasons.
Suffice to say, you are never too old to learn, but it is how you receive and acquire knowledge from the lessons that life presents you with, combined, more importantly, with how you deal with the aftermath, that will ultimately make or break you.
"Dodge the bullets, or carry the gun, the choice is yours!" as Jaz Coleman once said.
And he wasn't joking either.
A former sidekick of mine, I was in touch with recently, told me he had taken on a new job in football next season, despite having left his last one under a bit of a cloud, because the involvement was like a drug to him.Actually, it is far more serious than that.
Addiction is curable, but the kind of mental illness that you catch from hanging around in close proximity to other 'football types' too often, most definitely isn't.
A few tentative steps and woosh! You're on that slippery slop and there may be trouble ahead.
But while there's moonlight and music and love and romance...
Whoops sorry, I'm wandering off on a tangent again.
Give him a ball and a yard of grass:
And of course, you've also got to consider that all clubs have a never ending turnover of staff, as they continue to evolve and/or move off in a different direction. With or without you.
What you have to condition yourself to do, is not to take any of these changes to heart, it isn't personal, 'tis merely your turn to suffer the wrath of the predictably unpredictable nature of the multi-headed beast called football.
Bear in mind that one day, possibly sooner rather than later, it will nearly always be your turn to get punted and jettisoned eventually, to make way for some internal restructure, a replacement part or new game plan.
"Enjoy yourself! It's later than you think"
For every stalwart that has been around since the beginning of time itself (and there are a fair few of these scattered around local clubs), there are hundreds more who will eternally harbor a grudge because they will believe that they have been mistreated by the suits/officialdom at one club or another. And, although a lot of them will be wholly entitled to feel that way, others would perhaps do well to observe any danger signs and take heed of the alarm bells at all times in future.
Just saying like.
He's a nice young man, with a lovely smile:My current football vocation, involves 'jobbing' with a club that is as near as damn it, an almost complete blueprint for what, in my opinion, any Non League club should aspire to be like, if they ever get the opportunity.
Granted, there is no such thing as perfect, but it's just about as close as you're going to get.
The infrastructure, facilities and calibre of people 'doing their bit' around the club are all second to none.
My actual title at Staveley MWFC?
Don't make me laugh.
Non League people don't have one job, or need a fancy moniker to justify their worth, you just do whatever needs doing when you turn up.
I could pontificate and elaborate about the future, but it's pre-season, so I'll let people from other clubs, shout from the rooftops about their plans and new signings for the ten months ahead and keep schtum about what I'm witnessing, so as to not give any secrets away.
Suffice to say, preparations are at a very advanced stage and are going much better than some of the club I work for's detractors even dare think about.
2014-15 stuff, tying up some loose ends and signing off until next season (AKA, probably some time next week).
Ryan Watters for Staveley MW, away v Parkgate, NCEL Groundhop Day.
Credit where it is due award:
Staveley MW, 12 game unbeaten run, 11 straight wins followed by a 1-1 draw at Bridlington Town.
A fantastic achievement. Good luck to the management team responsible, Jas & Ryan and everybody else, who have since decamped to Clipstone FC. You ****ers aren't half going to miss me!!!
Cup final glory:
It was brilliant that Staveley MW U21's won a cup final on the occasion of my last ever game as their Match Secretary, but I actually enjoyed both of their league games against Ilkeston far more.
Trophies are nice but it's all about developing young players.
Winterton Rangers, Cleethorpes Town, Bridlington Town and Auchinleck Talbot.
Handsworth Parramore against Cleethorpes Town, in NCEL League Cup Final at Staveley MW. Genuinely happy for my pal Kieron Wells, for the massive part he played in his sides 4-3 win that day.
Best football book:
'Invincible' by Amy Lawrence, it's been out a while but I only got the opportunity to read it recently. Primarily, it is about Arsenal's unbeaten Premier League season of 2003-04, but I really enjoyed the fascinating insight into the psyche of Arsene Wenger.
Dalbeattie Star, Matlock Town, Frickley Athletic... and Staveley MW would look quite awesome without those Sheff Wednesdayesque stripes.
I've had a few, but then agian...
Best live shows:
Sleaford Mods, The Cycle Paths, Ruts DC
Shaun E. Smith's 'The 100 Grounds Club'. He's a nice bloke n' all.
Ele, without whom a lot of things would never happen.
'That curmudgeonly old soak', AKA Terry Damms.
Jay, Steve and Liz.
Teresa and her mob.
Big Andy and Mrs H.
Jas Colliver & Ryan France.
The back of the stand, Cannon Park crew.
Brett Marshall, cheers for the openness and honest two way chats.
The Davids (all three of you).
Big Dick. I am blessed to have such a large Richard, in my circle of friends.
Stu for the prog covers.
Richard and Chris for the prog articles.
Everyone at AFC Mansfield.
My Retford Stags brethren.
Several good friends at Handsworth Parramore.
The moaning old buggers at the back of Inkersall Road terrace.
Suzi and Richard in the Grafton.
Colin & Geoff for the long distance hauls.
Andy Lake, Paul Stacey, Mark Shaw, Anne & Kev Keep.
All of my old pals at Worksop Town for always making me feel welcome, in spite of everything, and some new pals I've met there on my travels this past year or so too.
All of you lot who have now buggered off elsewhere, for one reason or another, but who've done your bit along the way. I salute you gents.
And of course, last and most definitely least... old whatsername and my family for putting up my often lengthy absences.
If all of the above has made any sense to you whatsoever, I salute your choice of medication.
If it didn't, never mind, it was all for me and about me really, nobody forced you into persevering with it until the end.