Following the unpredicted success of last year’s Predictions for the year ahead (where a couple of things actually did happen – or so I’m told anyway), it is that time of year again to list what is going to happen in 2002. Once again, the editor has gone to great lengths to ensure all accuracy
Well at least the ground thawed out enough so we could endure enjoy Bell End 2 North End 0. Well, all right, I’m being unkind – we did actually play OK, and when was the last time we actually got TWO goals late on in a game? It was pretty bloody cold, mind, and the
Somebody at WFC really needs to sort their fucking life out. I mean, come on, how bad does that look on Ceefax? The only game in the South East called off because of weather. That is really iffy. Given the current mood ATM, people really are going to blame the club for even something like
Honestly, I don’t know. Thirteen Men 2 Nine Men 1 had practically everything – drama, excitement, excrement and good old fashioned hatred. Drama – almost pulling a 2 goal deficit back with only 9 men. Excitement – the manner in which we did so. Excrement – the very manner in which we found ourselves short
Hey all – I’m back running the site. Did you miss me? (oh, I see). Anyway, major league thanx to both Dr Wu and JC for keeping this site ticking over. Just got my head finally straight, here’s my brief $0.02 on all the stuff that’s gone on (did a bit of WISA envelope stuffing
On a day when off the field events were considerably more important than the match itself, it’s not hard to know where to start this report. Fans United – what a success! It was obvious during the week that Fans United was going to be huge, but to see fans from so many different clubs
Well, this is my first update in the absence of our esteemed webmaster, who is currently off stalking Mr Koppel in Florida. ) Well, for the first time in quite some time, there is some good news to report. Yesterday a Government inspector blocked Safeway’s application, for the third and final time, to build a
by Sidney B Friday evenings, for me, are habitually reserved for the consumption of one’s body weight in Stella Artois. NOT football. It was therefore a rather unfamiliar sensation joining the throngs of southbound commuters at Victoria and subsequently traversing the cultural wastelands of South London en route to Thornton Heath. Upon arrival at the