The briefest of brief games of wiff waff on Sunday lunchtime. We managed to beat the rain, but not the wind. This led to some comical serves - mostly unintentional. The final scoreline of 4-2 - not in my favour - was also unintentional. But why allow the usual narrative to get in the way of a good story? One day…
The march to the play-offs was underway for the Reb’s men at the Essex Sports Arena on Saturday evening. The home team started the round of fixtures in tenth place, with the top eight making it through to the play-offs. MK meanwhile were sitting strong in third place.
This was a tough game for the Rebs, who were always chasing the scoreboard. MK were physically strong, and weren’t afraid to bully the home team around their own court. Who’s House, etc? Erm… The Rebs did manage to ease in front, taking a 28-25 lead into the first buzzer.
Some big three pointers from MK in the second saw them ease slightly ahead 46-42. But Rebs were remained in it, with the visitors failing to pull away. This was still the case at the end of the third, the scores tied at 62-62, in what was a low scoring game.
MK out their foot down in the fourth, easing away with an 84-74 road victory. This seemed about fair as MK showed their quality. A play-off place is still within reach for the Rebs, but they will need to take advantage of the remaining home court games.
The Rebs won the battle for height ahead of tip off. Archers looked a little lightweight. The refs meanwhile looked rather snazzy in their new yellow tops. I never understood why they previously wore the blandest of bland grey kit.
The first quarter was even, with the Rebs taking a slight 25-21 lead into the first break. A similar pattern followed in the second, with a HT score of 50-40 in favour of the home team. The magical scoreboard total of 100 looked a possibility.
The fun at the HT break centred around Whitney. I’ve always LOVED Whitney - even the headache inducing I Will Always Love You. Which is just as well, seeing as though Whitney’s tear jerker was on a five second loop throughout the duration of the fifteen minute break.
It was all part of the latest Rebs HT entertainment. The idea was to crash the Rebs big bass drum, right on cue when the drum beat kicks in for Whitney’s big moment. It sounds simple, but it was a tricky task for the many volunteers lining up to give it a go.
Rebs dominated the third quarter and pulled away. This is where the game was won, with the home lead stretching to 77-56. It was great to see Coach Cookson use his full bench, giving court time to some of the players who often take a bench warmer role. They were still too strong for the Archers, with a final score of 102-80.
I missed the first goal for Gorleston. I was running fashionably late, as ever. It didn’t help that the bloody Dropbox app has had a redesign. My Wiv season ticket is stored in there, with a very handsome snap of me BEAMING away. I scrambled around in the car park with my phone, trying to find the file. Arse. I blagged it in instead.
I was halfway around my usual photo walk of the ground when I thought of asking the friendly lady who sits in the corner on her own what the score is. I pretended that I hadn’t heard that Wivenhoe were already 1-0 down.
I put a shifty on with my photo walk. The Broad Lane skies were bruising. We were in for a soaking. I managed to see the Dragons equalise with a penalty. My celebrations had barely finished when Gorleston went down the other end and scored a second. Hey hoe.
And so 2-1 down at HT, and I had to do a runner. The Rebs were tipping off up at the University at 4pm. I made the strategic decision of watching half a game of hit and miss game of football, rather than walk in midway through a full on basketball game.
A brief scroll through the phone at the basketball, and yep, the FT score back at Broad Lane remained 2-1. Watching ninety minutes of football is overrated, Comrades.
“But who were these people who wrote this stuff? These fantastical people, Julie being at the forefront, were pure punk. Football punk. Without the Mohicans and safety pins, but with the big words. With the football knowledge. They did it all themselves too. They were sticking it to the man.”
David Marples on Julie Pritchard and The Mighty Brian.
“Corbyn will now be, for the second time, the one thing he never wanted to be: the leader of a political party.”
via Novara
UK’s second-tallest residential tower planned for last big Vauxhall site
via IanVisits
More than four in 10 cyclists report feeling unsafe riding in the capital, according to a survey presented to Transport for London.
via road.cc
To The Nottage! …on a damp Estuary Wilds Friday evening. Thirty five odd years ago and we would be starting the weekly WEEKENDER ritual of getting tarted up and buzzing off our tits just up the road at the University.
Middle-age means a more sedate Friday evening sitting in a historic nautical room with a bunch of stiffs, watching a series of old films depicting Weird Wiv on camera from days gone by.
LIVE the dream, Jase. At least we managed to reduce the average age of the coffin dodgers by a couple of decades.
We took up our position on the back row of The Nottage. It wasn’t exactly DATE NIGHT. Plus I had forgotten my specs, and so had to quint to see anything.
Lined up for the evening’s entertainment was a rag tag collection of old films featuring Wivenhoe. there was no soundtrack, just home movie footage. This led to a constant stream of commentary from the audience.
“Oh look, there’s old Jim!”
I challenged A to shout out:
“There’s Dave!”
There was no Dave.
That would have livened the stiffs up.
The first film was a rather lengthy home movie affair, featuring the voyage of Cap Pilar. This is a ship that is still spoken of around these parts with reverence.
The back story is a young fella back in the 1930’s SPUNKING his wealth on Cap Pilar, and then inviting a crew of around sixty or so local types to explore the world with him. The outbreak of War cut the journey short after a couple of years.
Footage from the voyage was incredibly homoerotic. I don’t think that was the intentions, any maybe it was just me that saw this. The crew were pretty much all stripped off, muscle bound and scrubbing the decks, as well as each other.
Blimey. And that was all without my specs on.
It dragged a little, tbh. Some fast forwarding of the hour long footage followed. It was hardly a Friday night spent doom scrolling on Tik Tok.
A short break followed, and then we had a mid 80’s promo film trying to sell the idea of the Tidal Barrier to the locals. There was some fantastic accidental Partridge quotes in there.
The commentary covered the original idea of the Barrier being closed up to four times a year. Fifty or so closures is now not uncommon. Time and tide, and global warming, innit.
The final film was a comedy home video gone wrong. I don’t think we were suppose to be laughing, but the back row action had us pissing our pants, trying to cover up all the jocularity.
The subject matter involved one of the final launches of a grand old industrial ship just before the shipyard closed. You can imaging the scene: the whole town had turned out for the smashing of the Champagne bottle. School kids had the afternoon off.
High tide arrived, the dignitaries rocked up. Our DIY cameraman was on the opposite side of the Muddy Banks to capture the action.
THREE! TWO! ONE!
The ship slid down the slipway, and then promptly pointed in the wrong direction.
OH SHIT.
Some mad scrambling followed to get the bulk of a vessel back on the slipway with the water fast draining back out downstream.
It was classic Weird Wiv. We found it funny as fuck. No one else did.
There was talk of heading back up to campus for an all nighter with a little more light refreshment. Instead we were back in bed by 10am.
This was a weird one. My partner experimented with what she called a “demon back hand spin of a serve.” The only problem for her was that she telegraphed it with more warning than a big red flashing foghorn that beeps right in your face.
Guess what’s coming? OH HAI, Luv.
My response was to TWAT the ball with a forehand smash into the opposite corner where her back was turned. Time and time and time again. Which all led to me racing to a 2-0 lead.
Time for a change of plan, time to ditch the demon back hand. Oh hang on. I’m not so good at this. It didn’t help that the rain started to drizzle down, messing up my pristine looks. My OCD woes led to a 3-2 defeat.
She may not have the killer serve, but I also don’t have the killer instinct to close off a game.
A top stat from Sir Colin of West Bridgford ahead of KO: Forest have the 3rd best all time record in Europe for keeping clean sheets. Blimey. And so taking a 3-0 lead into the second leg at home to Fenerbahçe, you know what you need to do. History repeating itself, etc. BC bloody loved clean sheets. Not so Ange the Clown.
KO came, and so did the flares from the Lower Bridgford. Yes, they were a little exciting, adding some Euro hoolie ‘glamour’ to the World Famous. They were also bloody annoying causing the game to be disrupted, not to mention dangerous. SHOUT OUT to the Fenerbahçe fella who showed his D***y kit underneath his home shirt.
Forest won’t fuck this up, right? Erm… The first Fenerbahçe goal was a right cock up. No surprises that Morato was involved. I love the masculinity, I love the neck tattoos. I don’t love the AWOL defending that led to a two on one breakaway.
Murillo meanwhile is no left back. We missed the stability of Sangare in midfield holding it all together. Lucca should either be sent back to Italy, or on a season end loan to Grimsby. We’re playing with ten men whilst he is on the pitch.
HT came, and it was time for the Big Boys. FOUR subs after the break suggested that the home dressing room at HT must have been a bit lively. I liked the reaction and immediate change. I didn’t like the pen given to Fenerbahçe before I even had the chance to finish my second half rendition of Mull.
I had a very bad feeling about this. You could feel the nervousness in the crowd come across on the telly. Cliche, cliche - the next goal was vital. Thank chuff for CHO stepping up and putting an end to the tie. This should have been a stroll for Forest at the World Famous. With PL relegation also heavy on our mind, I can’t but help think that Europe is going to continue to stretch us, rather than excite us.
aka Low 2. It’s the layers on The Idiot that makes this album so special. Some songs almost have two separate narratives taking place, but somehow still manage to stay on track. The China Girl original adds a little more malice than Bowie’s cover. But ultimately it’s Bowie who shines through on The Idiot. He’s across every track, bringing the best out of Iggy. A dirty, messy album. But much needed.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
“There’s a solution for e-bike parking chaos - but it’s not problem-free”
Erm, why doesn’t legacy media ever talk about car parking chaos that litter the streets and pavements?
via BBC
