onionbagblog

The familiar routine and rhythm of a Forest match ahead of KO: the team news drops. Unchanged.

Oh.

There wasn’t a great deal of possibilities to change the starting eleven that beat Wolves in midweek.

Murilo was still missing. No worries. Morato more or less redeemed himself midweek, following the fuck up against Brighton.

I don’t know what Ndoye is still doing in the side, mind.

Sir Colin of West Bridgford reliably informed me that an away win at Everton would mean that Forest would be the first team to take six points off Everton and Liverpool away from home in two consecutive seasons.

Calm down, etc.

KO came.

Oh shit.

We got off to a very shaky start. Not on par with the Brighton nerves, but it didn’t look good.

An own goal with a cruel deflection off the Serbinator kinda summed up what was to follow.

Tarkowski did well not to be charged with common assault, let alone escape a red card after he twatted Ndoye from behind.

Everton are the new DIRTY Leeds. I’ve never liked them, tbh.

The midfield battle between Anderson and Garner was the only point of interest in the first half. A return of Garner to replace a likely departing Anderson in the summer would sit fine with me. He’d need to lose the silly tache first.

Some awful defending and a robust ref who refused to shift, led to a three on one breakaway for Everton.

I actually checked the Forest X feed to see if the Big Fat Greek hadn’t shitposted something about the ref being an Everton fan.

Three subs for Forest straight after the break. Something had to give. It was good to see Big Willy taking on the professional cheerleading roll, and encouraging young Zak.

The Captain went down with a hamstring injury.

Oh dear.

Like we need another injury right now.

CHO and Hutchinson both went AWOL on the wings. We miss Elanga more than we expected when he was cashed in to Newcastle.

3-0 down and the game was gone. Forest can’t play back-to-back matches. Filling a new 52,000 season when Blackburn are visitors in the Championship fills me with fear.

And so not a great away day. We’re right back down in the relegation bun fight. One step up, two steps back.

Hey hoe.

At least we might get D***y or Stags away in the FA Cup draw on Monday.

This is such a hypnotic album. I found myself drifting between tracks, not really paying too much attention as one track ended and another begins. It’s all so hypnotic. All My Friends is clearly a banger. There’s a cult like feeling to the whole album, with mantras sucking you in. Rather joyous.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

The soundtrack for American Graffiti - a double CD as well. You know how fond I am of doubles.

I love this film, almost as much as I now love the soundtrack. It use to be a consistently strong seller when I was working on the market store in the early 80’s. For a period of around three years it seemed to sell at a steady pace, week in, week out.

I never saw the appeal at the time tbh. It was old man rock ‘n’ roll music. Oh the irony of being turned on my psychobilly at the time, and not really making the connection.

American graffiti is hit after hit after hit, as Wolfman Jack might say. I’m being drawn back to rock ‘n’ roll later in life: the music, the clothes, erm, the hair.

Wasted on youth, etc.

Another scrolling session down the Sky Sports menu ahead of KO.

If it’s a Wednesday evening, then we myst be on Sky Sports F1, right?

I wasn’t sure if Forest were kicking off in pole position at Molineaux, or if we had come to park the bus.

Don’t crash the car, fellas.

Molineaux didn’t sound like a happy place. If fact it sounded a lot like Midtjylland at home - a game that has now gone down in Forest folklore as a metaphor for a footballing shit show.

The home fans were apathetic. They couldn’t even be arsed to boo MGW.

Anderson ran the game. That’s pretty much all you need to know. It’s no hyperbole to hint that he’s the best midfield talent this country has had since Gazza. All that’s missing is the goals.

Forest went 1-0 up with a Jesus header.

Oh wait.

FUCK VAR, etc.

Sure, Ndoye was way offside. But why the five minute wait for the ref to rule on what everyone else had already seen?

Wolves were an absolute shambles in the first half. But they came out fighting at the start of the second.

Steady the buffers, Forest.

Morato has always got a mistake in him. Now would not be a good time to be reminded of this.

It was a bit of a huff and puff effort to get over the line. Just win, just BLOODY win. I’d take an ugly three points and GTFO of here.

Don’t come back. Never again. etc.

SEE YA, Wolves.

Thankfully Jesus had a Second Coming (stop it). He can perform miracles in the air, for such a short player.

I can’t get enough of seeing Woan and Stone celebrate on the touchline wearing the badge. You get the impression they feel the same.

Another VAR nightmare followed for the Yates penalty claim. Once again, absolutely no one in the ground saw this as a credible claim.

All it meant was that extra added minutes were added on at the end. Forest did well to see this one over the line.

There was blue sky above the bloody Estuary Wilds for Wednesday lunchtime. We both had a spare half hour.

Hey! How about some midweek wiff waff?

Sure.

The field was empty. This meant that I could empty my extreme potty mouth whenever a shot didn’t work out.

OH CHUFF, etc.

The grass around was wet. This led to the ball becoming a little water heavy. It wasn’t a game in which to turn to spin.

If in doubt, TWAT IT.

There goes the potty mouth.

A friendly dog approached us during a crucial point in the game. He lifted his right hind leg and pissed all over my table tennis bag.

The dirty dog, etc.

This put me off my stroke. I caved in, losing 3-2.

It was the tail that wagged the wiff waff dog.

For some unknown reason this reminds me of the Metal Micky telly show. It would have been the perfect soundtrack: new, shiny, the future. It still sounds fresh, over fifty years later. Bolan knew how to riff. He’s Chuck Berry with an afro perm. The singles of course stand out. Jeepster had me swaying along first thing in the morning, still in my PJ’s. There’s a certain amount of sorrow, before the boogie picks you up again. Decent.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Brooks digs up “forgotten” leather, and turns it into limited run of £330 “exceedingly rare and unrepeatable” saddles

TOUCH THE LEATHER

To Moving Image!

…on Tuesday evening. On the big (ish) screen at the Loveless Hall was The Penguin Lessons, another Steve Coogan film from last year.

Coogan is working at a prolific rate right now. He seems to be everywhere - on the telly, in your podcast feed, erm, on the Loveless Hall big (ish) screen.

He always seems to play himself - or even an iteration of Partridge; but he also always seems to get away with it. That’s the sign of a good actor.

His character in The Penguin Lessons is an English teacher moving to Argentina in the Junta era of 1976 to teach a private school. A penguin is picked up along the way.

You could quite easily swap the teacher role for Coogan’s Tony Wilson in Twenty Four Hour Party People. But probably not the creepy Coogan with his incredible portrayal of Jimmy Saville.

The Penguin Lessons is shot beautifully, capturing the 1970’s landscape of Argentina. The scenes have a light touch hue about them. The screen radiates with South American warmness.

And so does the film. Not the nasty right wing Military Junta part, obvs, but the developing love story between an awkward English teacher and a penguin that is rescued from an oil spill.

This is a truly lovely film laced with metaphors. With one of the main character not being able to hold down a speaking role, the relationship between teacher and penguin somehow manages to develop along with the plot.

The soundtrack is great as well. The use of Nick Drake fits the time period and location.

There were genuine tears at the end. Nothing ever lasts forever, etc. Coogan even manages to evoke some accidental Partridge into the funeral eulogy.

What a wonderful film.

I always find Costello a little too clever with the lyrics. What a bounder! Writing intelligent lyrics… I think I’m just a passive listener. The music is always great, as is the case on Brutal Youth. The band sounds tight here. He always benefits when backed by the Attractions. Maybe the last great Costello album before he hit the comfortable years?

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Another day, another BATTERING at the Table of Dreams.

We’re talking 4-1 here.

Oh dear.

I started strong. I always start strong. I raced to a 1-0 lead.

My early tactics are to basically TWAT the ball around the table. I’m very good at TWATTING - especially so when it comes to finding the corners.

I then get a little cocky.

Hey! Let’s spin it to win it!

I love executing spin, even if the ball doesn’t bounce on the other end of the table. It’s a very satisfying stroke.

My interest in the game started to disappear, along with the fading winter light. We ended up playing pretty much in darkness.

Lights out.