View from the Cemetery

Woe, woe and thrice woe! Beware the humps and bumps of Whickham as my old grandad used to say. I knew it was going to be a bad day when the lounge bar came to life as that fine upstanding late night fisticuffs maestro Carroll, maintaining a tradition built up over very many glorious years of players' adventures in the hot spots of Newcastle, nodded the Mags an undeserved equaliser while doing his day job. Before that the clubhouse at the Glebe was like a burial ground, or so I am lead to believe. But one defeat does not make you a bad side; oh no indeed, lots of other things do that...

Well, back with a bang or what? Eight goals, a sending off and a missed pen, this will bring the crowds back; but not yet by the looks of things on Saturday. No football for more than a month, the big boys down at Portsmouth, surely this should have been an opportunity to fill the ground with fans old and new. But how many turned up? Official figure said 58 I heard, but that must have included Winston the dog, and most of them were in the bar, sorry, clubhouse, for most of the afternoon. I bow to no one in my appreciation of the hidden delights of Ryhope, but surely a dozen or so can be tempted out of the Guide Post to watch a winning team? Maybe not, maybe not...

[The Ghostly Gadgie has been very late in filing his Christmas View. It’s been very cold so things got more than a bit frozen up in his parts. Still, better late than never. – Editor]

Cold, very cold in here! Nice drop of something would go down well to warm the lads up, I could always win a prize in the bottle draw…

Will it ever take place? Colder than the proverbial witches round here, and nobody wanted to play on Boxing Day anyway, so the betting is strong that will be off, and if there is no match how can there be a prize draw? Might have to be done behind closed doors this year, which would be bad news for Fergy’s chances of winning a couple of nice ones again…

No, just a few injuries coming together, the kind of blip all good clubs have, nothing to worry about, soon get back on track, just got to stay focused, take one game at a time, let everybody else worry about us; the full list from the book of football cliches, oh yes, oh, oh yes. If you get up here on a training night, you can hear them all at it, as the old heads get together and plot and plan for eventual victory; it's like Adolf in his bunker.