Who Needs Torres?
So, Peter Crouch scores. As good a method as I can think of for showing those know-it-all bloggers what they actually know about anything. Which is precisely nothing, it turns out. Here I was, knocking back all the haters; defending the poor lamb against all the ridicule and mindless derision. Give him time, I said, and he’ll come round. Who needs Saurez, Carroll or even Torres. We’ve got Crouch. Peter bloody Crouch. And he’s doing his god-loving best. Decent touch? For a big man? I practically coined the phrase.
What I definitely didn’t do, was make churlish jokes about the striker only to look like a bit of a berk a few minutes later when he went onto to nod home the winner in what many would deem our most important result of the season. Massive it was. Gargantuan. With a Chuck Norris sleeper-hold of pressure coming from fixtures elsewhere, a win was the difference between keeping up the challenge with the leaders and resigning ourselves to a battle for 5th with Sunderland, Bolton and Liverpool. Lose or even draw and it would’ve felt like the first step toward our final throes.
Talking of Bolton. You’ll never guess who’s at the Lane this weekend. I’ll give you a clue- it starts with a ‘B’ and sounds like Bolton. It’s Bolton. We often do alright in this fixture; contrary to the annual trip to more northerly climbs in which we do rather less so. The Reebok seems to be a place whereby Kevin Davies is given enough room to look like Gabriel Batistuta in his pomp. Which is just not on, if you ask me. Pragmatists will look toward the Trotter’s paltry two away wins this season for comfort- as well as our own granite-like home form. And I’m just about inclined to agree with them and say we ought to win this at a canter. With or without a casualty list that’d make Florence Nightingale weep inconsolably into her ‘kerchief.
New balls, please.
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