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something similar to the rest of English football for years.
Most clubs in the Championship and below are a catastrophic financial mess because of the repugnant commercial self-interest of the TV created Frankensteins in the top flight.
To hear pundits outraged by the ESL simultaneously get all teary-eyed about the beauty of the domestic game's trickle down economics is laughable.
When it comes to naked Darwinian greed it's clear the ESL has evolved directly from the loins of the absurdly hallowed Premier League.
In some dank torture chamber of ME's mind is an inappropriate pleasure derived from our predicament?
Brand Marcus has certainly taken a hammering since he tripped through the door all those years ago.
Now we the fans must be punished because the club has exposed to the world his multiple failures as a football/business owner.
Maybe deep down this Chelsea supporter and alleged master of the commercial universe, who has flipped and flopped from one football-related disaster to the next, can just never forgive us.
Town is the rapidly ailing patient, the drugs aren't working, and yet Doctor Strangelove carries on prescribing the same deadly Glaswegian made medication that could well finish us off.
Alternatively he might be profoundly incompetent, but the longer it goes on with Shambo in the dugout the weirder it becomes.
his services represents an act of unforgivable self-harm that borders on insanity.
It is extraordinary, no matter how low this club goes under the current owner you know there's a strong chance things will get even worse.
Thirteen years in the game have so far yielded for Marcus Evans a football brain the size of a flattened pea.
This manager must go NOW and if ME carries on refusing to listen to the fans then we should make our voices heard across all social media channels of the Marcus Evans Group.
semi-final defeat to Manchester City. Drove up to Villa Park with my father through the pouring rain fully expecting to sweep them aside like we had WBA three years before.
Paul Power's extra time free-kick haunts me still. That volcanic eruption of joy in one half of the Holte End when the ball flew past Cooper, the other half a vast army of Town fans stunned into motionless silence.
It was spectacular visual theatre from where we sat, but God it felt awful. Just about bearable to watch again. I suspect Spurs would have beaten us in the final but in those days losing a semi was so much worse.