A Pocket Guide to Beating Fulham

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Afternoon, campers.

Hope this finds you in good spirits.

Without wishing to bore you with a drawn-out story which details include losing a key, missing a train, a step-ladder, a window, a gardening fork and, later, several pitchers of Cuba Libre, I managed to miss the game this weekend. Nothing particularly depraved you understand, just a sequence of misfortunate events which left me unable to get within ten yards of anything remotely resembling a television set. Phone updates were off-limits, too. As much as you try, there’s only so much you can garner about the progress of a football match from cloud formations and an out of date bus timetable. Which is a shame. It sounded like a real dinger.

All I can safely remark on is the result, which, perhaps understandably, hasn’t been met with widespread approval. Yet again missed chances appears to be the main bone of contention; not helped in the least by another two-bit Charlie summoning the spirit of Dino Zoff and deflecting everything in thwacking distance. Another case of the Myhills.  Funny how these extraordinary powers seem to fade just as quickly as they are acquired; I don’t remember Rooney making such a three-course meal of beating the Hull keeper as we did. Like I say, I can’t hope to comment on the bills of Ankergren or, indeed, his skills to pay them.

Some Russian scored for us. Didn’t catch his name.

Roman Pavlyuchenko. My fingers haven’t knocked that combination of letters out in a while. I wouldn’t get too attached, though, even without a groin strain, (I presume his muscle fibres went into shock) it’s patently clear that he’s still nowhere in ‘Arry’s plans. He could’ve scored six and this would reamain the case. I get the impression that his appearance at the weekend was the beginning of a prolonged goodbye tour which could well run into the summer. If reports that the aforementioned groin damage isn’t quite as serious as first thought, we may see another leg of it tonight. And it’ll go on like this for the rest of the season- glimpses of Pav in training or at the tail-end of games, like a capture sending out obscure photos or bits of finger to prove their hostage is still alive and worth stumping up a hefty ransom for- until he finally disappears into the night. Never to be heard from again.

Moving on. I feel like I say this every week, but tonight we host a team not exactly setting the form book alight. In fact, barely even singing the page’s edge. Fulham have lost their last three outings; a sequence which, not unsurprisingly, has coincided with the injury of Bobby Zamora. Sadly, that bag ‘o’ spanners may make a cameo appearance this evening and I imagine he’s going to be suitably pumped. I’d like Dawson to give him slap just to let him know whose house it is. Could be interesting. The order of the day is an early goal and not surrendering all hope if the keeper makes a couple of routine saves. Schwarzer is a decent sort but he isn’t, as we might protest after the game, impenetrable. He isn’t a superhero. Although two first half goals might well prove to be his kryptonite.

3-1 for me then.

With Crouch to get two.

COYS!


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