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December Will Be Magic Again

Bit of a (mercifully) short one this week. Been a bit of a mad week, I’m a bit under the weather (I am now approximately 60% mucus), my work’s Christmas do was last night (thereby ruling out the usual Friday night 10pm panic typing) and there hasn’t even been a Latics game to write about, so I’ll keep it brief.


Firstly, I am fully confident that this month is going to be better for us than last month, starting today. Maybe it’s the festive good cheer, maybe it’s febrile delirium, but I’m feeling strangely optimistic. David Unsworth hasn’t said anything about Alex Reid not being available, so hopefully he’ll be up for scoring against his recent team-mates. If we did everything but score at Maidstone, there’s no excuse for us not doing everything and scoring at Solihull. I won’t be going to the game because I absolutely cannot be doing with attempting to navigate Birmingham New Street station on a Saturday morning ahead of an early kick-off. We’re heading to Trafford to cheer on Prescot Cables. It looks like we have to buy a digital ticket for it online. They’re in the 8th tier. Utter madness.


Secondly, the World Cup is turning out to be pretty enjoyable. I do feel a bit guilty about that, and I’ve got some sympathy with people who argue that we shouldn’t watching in solidarity with LGBTQ+ people and with the migrant workers who’ve been treated appallingly in the construction of the stadia, many of whom have died. I don’t know how much good me not watching the games on TV would do, though, to be honest. After their let’s-manage-expectations snoozefest against the USA, England looked far better against Wales. If you’ve been sniping at Marcus Rashford saying, “he should have concentrated more on his football/he wants to stick to making packed lunches/hur hur hur I hate poor people he should let them starve”, I hope you feel suitably daft. Jordan Pickford’s ongoing exasperation every time he has to make a save continues to amuse me. I still think we’re probably going to lose to France in the quarter finals, but you never know. France are usually on the verge of imploding, and I believe they were cry-arsing about something or other after they got beat by Tunisia. I can’t be arsed finding out why. And every time I hear that fucking Rice Rice Baby advert, I wonder whether us losing to Senegal would actually be the worst thing. Congratulations to Japan, fully deservedly going through to the knockout phases as group winners, in the most hilarious of circumstances.


Int football brilliant? God speed if you’re going to Solihull, I will keep you in my prayers if you’re going on the train. Feel free to buy me a medicinal mulled wine if you see me in Manchester on Saturday. Keep the motherfucking festive faith.

Written by Arlene Finnigan. Image © Oldham Athletic.

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