| The Warky Championship Report 2025/26: Sheffield Wednesday (H) 11:24 - Dec 21 with 366 views | Warkystache |
Fairy lights twinkled in the glooming of the pub. It's one of those things I love about this time of year. Along with a nice, easy pre-Christmas fixture against a side whose fortunes have slipped, who can't field a full team without resorting to youth and jadedness, who should be ripe for the hammering anticipated from even a barely-competent opponent.
So I was looking forward to playing Sheffield Wednesday. A side ruined by a dictatorial and inept owner, relying on a thirty-five year old in their midfield to pull the strings. Surely, at worst, it'd be 5-0? A nice few goals to limber us up for the potential banana skins of Millwall and Coventry away. A bit of confidence that we'd go into those matches on a high.
Tel arrived late. Mrs Tel was doing some last-minute shopping in Freeport and didn't really want the additional hassle of driving him twenty miles so he could attend a foregone conclusion. Her looks belied irritation and anxiety. She wanted to be anywhere other than here. Things to do. Time was pressing. "She c'n go tomorrow or Mondee or Tuesdee" said Tel with reproach as she kissed me briefly and then sped off, like Starsky on a promise.
We walked to the station, splashing through puddles, eyeing the skies with mistrust at more rain. In the end, it stayed perfect. 10.30am pints of Guinness in the station buffet at Manningtree, more Christmas lights twinkling. The London-bound commuters snatching take-away polystyrene filled with milky coffee, sipped through the tiny hole in the lid. Our manners change as much as the weather. As it gets warmer for the time of year, we become colder. This wasn't a crowd anticipating familial warmth in the week ahead, it was a mob ruled by FOMO.
One pint became two and we let the 11.12 go without us. It looked busy. The Norwich-bound one came at 11.26 and left with an extra two bodies who admired the sunlight dappling the Stour. Well, alright, one body. Tel was distracted by his story about Tony and Sandy only having one of their two children present on Christmas Day. The other one is staying with friends. Tel made the word 'friends' seem slightly risqué. I wondered what he meant.
I've strained my hamstring, so walking is a bit more laboured than usual. I noticed it last week but then it wore off. Sitting on the train, I noticed it again. Stretching didn't alleviate it and neither did the walk from Station to Town. It remained sore for a while so I stood in the pub. Tel commented that he often got worse pain in his knees after walking. I wondered how long it'd be before the zimmer frames?
There were a few bluff northerners in the pub. Not as many as Newcastle brought last season, but not as little as, say, Rotherham the season before. They ate and drank like the rest of us and largely kept themselves to themselves. We had a few pints of lager and then some hors d'oeuvres, pigs in blankets and chicken nuggets and bacon and brie wraps. Mariah Carey played for the third time that morning. So did Wham. Then someone out the back changed the CD and suddenly we were rockin' around the Christmas Tree and stopping the cavalry. My festive pint of Rockin' Rudolph with a strand of tinsel on the pint glass added to the festive cheer. The effects of the beer completed the job.
Tel did a list of the stuff we'd both got for his Christmas a la Halstead on Wednesday, culminating on Saturday when Dad and I are coming home. We mentally ticked off champers, beer, wine, brandy, malt whisky, vodka, mixers and diet Coke in glass bottles for Mrs Tel. Oh, and Baileys. Loves a Baileys does Terry. He'll probably be the sole imbiber. Mrs Tel doesn't drink any more. My dad drinks red wine and port. Oh well.
We left at 2.40pm, alcohol fumes steaming round our heads and me silently cursing my hamstring, which despite the effects of the drink, was still noticeable. Half-limping to the ground, taking the occasional pull on my new vape like it contained a magical pain-relieving elixir rather than the blueberry razz crap I'd loaded in it, I smelt the fried onions from the hot dog stands and watched the seagulls wheeling amongst the piles of rubbish discarded near Sir Alf's statue. We're a messy lot.
And that 5-0 prediction? Well, let's just be thankful I didn't bet money on it. Indeed, for portions of that first half yesterday, I thought Wednesday looked the better side. The moans and the shouts of 'sort yourself out, O'Shea!" as our expensively-purchased central defender and skipper lazily gave the ball away to them yet again, were depressing. 'They never learn" said the bloke next to me. He was right. Too slow, yet strangely emboldened to try impossible passes when the possible is more than achievable. Several conversations turned to January's transfer window and drifted out in the wind.
We felt a side short of something. Intangible, yet in our minds, we know what we need. Better players have died a death here in the past. And yet we're third in the table? How do you mitigate all that?
Jack Clarke's third finally sealed what had been a better second-half but I felt sorry for Wednesday. They'd come, tried their best and been a bit unlucky. If you gauge 'unluckiness' through niggly play and fouls and Barry Bannan's sour face as we got the decisions. I didn't join in with the "Bannan, you're a c**t" chants. He was briefly better than Cajuste and Nunez in the first half.
I left before the last two of the nine additional minutes had been played and limped back to the station, meeting Terry halfway so we could travel back together and nip into the local once back. Curry night. Table booked with some difficulty as everyone seemed to fancy a ruby last night. Perhaps another pre-Xmas tradition in this new age?
The Spurs fans were apoplectic and the Chelsea fans nonplussed. A normal Saturday afternoon/evening. But you can bask in it if we'd won five nil or more. 3-1 just makes us look a bit incompetent. "Yer leddem score a goal for Christmas!" bellowed one Spurs regular. Yes, we did. Gift wrapped by our defence as well.
Good curry as well. No oily residues on the plate, good lamb tikka chops and a satisfyingly hot vindaloo. Numbed lips. Gurgling bowels. A fire that lager and mint chutney couldn't expunge. Now that's Christmas. And, just to prove it, the indian background music of sitars being twanged by a few cats was interrupted and, from somewhere deep in the restaurant, and deeper in my psyche, the unmistakable warbles of Mariah Carey. She doesn't want a lot for Christmas, which is just as well. Supporting Ipswich has taught me not to expect a lot.
Cheers all, see you on Boxing Day/Saturday. Merry Christmas!! |  |
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| The Warky Championship Report 2025/26: Sheffield Wednesday (H) on 11:45 - Dec 21 with 306 views | BasingstokeBlue |
Merry Christmas to you, too, Warky! |  |
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| The Warky Championship Report 2025/26: Sheffield Wednesday (H) on 12:01 - Dec 21 with 268 views | Benters |
Bravo Warky Merry Christmas buh. |  |
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