It was pointed out on NUFC.Com the day after the Coventry City game that the four one win after going a goal behind scarily mirrored a game against the same club eleven years ago, which we won four one after going a goal behind. Even the times of the goals were similar, some falling within a minute of each other (not counting the interceding eleven years of course, but you know what I mean, even if I’m rapidly losing track myself).
It all, depending how deeply one elects to think about these things- or any other thing involving Coventry City- seemed to say something ultimately defeating about the nature of football, sport, and life itself. If it’s all as pointlessly cyclical as this, if everything begins and ends to a unchanged effect played to a largely unmoved landscape, then why do we bother? We can’t even get a pie and cup of coffee at half time at St. James’ Park without lots of ethically anguished handwringing (although wringing would probably mark a nice change for our hands, given their usual role in the half time pie exchange is to be covered painfully in an intemperate and runny mince type substance, before being held under a cold tap until the second half begins) and it’s not as if anybody seems to enjoy going. Spiritual awakenings have as much power to diminish as they do illuminate, of course, they do as much to strip away possibly as they do to enhance it. For, for one thing to be universally true, lots of other, sometimes more juicy, things- often things that involve cute, earthily earnest girls with frizzy hair and encouragingly liberal views on group sex- have to be untrue. It’s all pointless, all of it and, even if it wasn’t, it would still revolve around Coventry City. Nice.
At least we won though. 4-1! I like Wayne Routledge: he’s bombastic, and quick. He was dropped for the Preston game on Saturday, a game I’ve crudely squeezed into this piece in a manner which gives the misleading idea that they were somehow thematically linked, but is, in fact, a nod to my lack of things to say about both games, really. Once again, the opponents were just terrible, lacking wit and flair, which is fair enough and expected, but also stomach and lustre. Once again, we weren’t much better, but done enough to have a comfortable victory secured long
before the end. I am still not sure if I’m enjoying this season or not.
I have no idea why Routlege was dropped, incidentally, perhaps he was ‘carrying a knock’. This is a big no-no, of course, and, like wedding rings and other superfluous objects, any knocks would have to be properly covered in bandages or, even better, handed to the fourth official before the game. It meant we had Guthrie in the right midfield role, except we didn’t because he kept drifting in, leaving a huge gap, to Simpson’s visible frustration. Best and Carroll together is a disaster, they run with the smooth collaborative fission of 2pac and Biggie, and spent much of the afternoon bickering like a failing couple. Carroll may get better, Best absolutely will not, and we’ve been had again. Signed him from Coventry City, you say? Spooky.
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