Friday, 24 August 2007
From despair to where
Surely even the most determined, hardcore, dyed-in-the-wool, Grimsby-'til-I-cry miserable sod would have to admit that Alan Buckley did a good job turning Town around last season. Perhaps they'd have to be whispering it quietly in an empty room while a bath was running and an illegal rave was in full swing downstairs, so that nobody else could hear them and they could save face, but Buckley's impact is undeniable.
Even his achievement, though, is eclipsed by that of Paul Ince in keeping tomorrow's opponents Macclesfield in the Football League.
I've never thought of Ince as any kind of all-round good sort. I can imagine Buckley being an interesting bloke to have a pint and a packet of peanuts with (dry roasted, I think: dry for his press conference humour and roasted for Gary Harkins' post-match debriefing when he got subbed off against Bristol Rovers last season).
But I can't see the same thing with Ince. I am obliged by the rules and constitution of the National Association of Big Girl's Blouses, of which I am the founder member, to take against anyone with a nickname like 'the Guv'nor' – but when that nickname has actually been made up by the person it refers to, it does tend to suggest the kind of dull-witted knucklehead who sets fire to cats and thinks women shouldn't drink pints.
Anyone hated by West Ham can't be all bad, though, and the Silkmen will be forever indebted to Ince for their escape last season. By early December they were 11 points from safety, having failed to win any of their first 19 league games. Two of their players had suffered broken legs in a 1-1 draw at Stockport. Two days after that, another one broke a leg in training. At this point, if Moss Rose had been razed to the ground by a plutonium egg dropped by a giant red pterodactyl that had lain dormant in the Cheshire undersoil since the late Cretaceous period, Macclesfield fans would simply have sighed gently and said, "Uh-huh."
A month later, in a Buckleyesque reversal of fortune, they'd won seven out of eight and were well on the way to trampling over Boston in their miraculous scramble to safety.
Just to undo all this good work, though, Ince opted to capitalise on his achievement by walking out to join the most despised club in the country in MK Dons. Back in the doldrums, Macclesfield are still struggling to attract 2,000 fans to Moss Rose – where Ince's franchise operation equalised last Saturday four minutes into injury time. If I were a Macc supporter right now I'd be feeling like a determined, hardcore, dyed-in-the-wool, miserable sod too.
Even his achievement, though, is eclipsed by that of Paul Ince in keeping tomorrow's opponents Macclesfield in the Football League.
I've never thought of Ince as any kind of all-round good sort. I can imagine Buckley being an interesting bloke to have a pint and a packet of peanuts with (dry roasted, I think: dry for his press conference humour and roasted for Gary Harkins' post-match debriefing when he got subbed off against Bristol Rovers last season).
But I can't see the same thing with Ince. I am obliged by the rules and constitution of the National Association of Big Girl's Blouses, of which I am the founder member, to take against anyone with a nickname like 'the Guv'nor' – but when that nickname has actually been made up by the person it refers to, it does tend to suggest the kind of dull-witted knucklehead who sets fire to cats and thinks women shouldn't drink pints.
Anyone hated by West Ham can't be all bad, though, and the Silkmen will be forever indebted to Ince for their escape last season. By early December they were 11 points from safety, having failed to win any of their first 19 league games. Two of their players had suffered broken legs in a 1-1 draw at Stockport. Two days after that, another one broke a leg in training. At this point, if Moss Rose had been razed to the ground by a plutonium egg dropped by a giant red pterodactyl that had lain dormant in the Cheshire undersoil since the late Cretaceous period, Macclesfield fans would simply have sighed gently and said, "Uh-huh."
A month later, in a Buckleyesque reversal of fortune, they'd won seven out of eight and were well on the way to trampling over Boston in their miraculous scramble to safety.
Just to undo all this good work, though, Ince opted to capitalise on his achievement by walking out to join the most despised club in the country in MK Dons. Back in the doldrums, Macclesfield are still struggling to attract 2,000 fans to Moss Rose – where Ince's franchise operation equalised last Saturday four minutes into injury time. If I were a Macc supporter right now I'd be feeling like a determined, hardcore, dyed-in-the-wool, miserable sod too.
Labels: buckley, franchise, ince, macclesfield, miserable, relegation, survival
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