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1) Southampton 2) Ipswich Town 3) Sheffield United 4) Birmingham City 5) Millwall 6) Coventry City 7) Leicester City 8) Norwich City 9) Middlesbrough 10) Bristol City 11) West Brom 12) Wrexham 13) Swansea City 14) Blackburn Rovers 15) Portsmouth 16) Charlton Athletic 17) Watford 18) Stoke City 19) Derby County 20) QPR 21) Preston 22) Hull City 23) Oxford United 24) Sheffield Wednesday
Cheers Kro! Here's the efforts of the Warky panel:
1) Southampton 2) Ipswich Town 3) Sheffield United 4) Birmingham City 5) Millwall 6) Coventry City 7) Middlesbrough 8) Norwich City 9) Bristol City 10) West Brom 11) Leicester City 12) Swansea City 13) Blackburn Rovers 14) Portsmouth 15) Charlton Athletic 16) Watford 17) Stoke City 18) Derby County 19) QPR 20) Preston 21) Hull City 22) Oxford United 23) Sheffield Wednesday
They've sorted Sports Personality of the Year this year though. An hour and fifty minutes of the Lionesses, with men's sport given a cursory ten minute run-through, and most of that being dominated by Man City and Rory McIlroy.
I've just returned home from a sojourn in Wales. Yep, sounds as banal as it probably was.
The holiday rental was a Welsh stone cottage in the middle of nowhere just outside of Beddgelert. Ideal for walking, they said. Not so ideal for nipping for a morning paper and a pint of milk, but we managed. The wifi was hit and miss. Snowdonia is lovely, but quite touristy and when it rains, it doesn't mess about. I strolled up inclines dressed in my Peter Storm cagoule and shorts, legs burning, shorts slightly damp, rain thrumming on my hooded bonce. Just what you need, especially when you read that the South East enjoyed temperatures in the late twenties and early thirties.
So came home on Friday to a stale, locked-up house, bank statements and junk mail awash on the welcome mat, no season ticket (yet) and another few weeks until the start of the new season at Birmingham, to which I'll be attending in the home end as the Bluenoses I work with were adamant I'd experience another St Andrews eve. Their confidence will hopefully be their downfall. It's Operation Piss the League in these parts. Meeting the Villa and Wolves and, bizarrely, Forest, all of whom they detest is their ultimate goal. It's a similar feeling to our first season in the Championship, albeit tinged with more entitlement. They don't rate our chances. Which will hopefully bite their arses come the 8th.
None of that in Wales, mind. The egg-chaser fans in the North of the country are as interested in football as I am in professional tiddlywinks. Wrexham are admired but even the small knot of Johnny-come-latelys who have thrown their allegiance to the Reynolds' think they'll need a season or two to get acclimatised. "Least we're not Sheffield Wednesday!" they all say, secure in the hope that one relegation spot is all but confirmed next season.
The rather dour image of North Wales as a Chapel-dominated dry spot with wet slate hills and nervous sheep has been blown away somewhat, but if you really look for it, can still be found. The local baker opened at 7.30am, had much nicer stuff than any Greggs, smelt like something from the 40's, had two ladies wearing pinnies serving and did by far the nicest ham rolls I've had anywhere. This was my routine for a few days, up at 7am, drive to Beddgelert, get a newspaper and some milk (you use a lot of milk and they still sell it in pint bottles), nip to the bakers for ham rolls to pop in me rucksack and consume on a walk, the odd meat and potato pasty, a bag of jam doughnuts if the mood took, then home for a cuppa and a read of the paper and a cake or pasty for breakfast, just to line the old gut before the walk. Then away, often til late evening if I found a pub somewhere en route. No maps, no planning, no blisters (thank God).
I barely saw anyone else walking. The tourists don't come until mid-morning and I was usually ankle-deep in wet by then. The locals kept themselves to themselves. Not interested. The local pubs were empty. A pint was £3.80 in some, £5.00 in most. You were served and then chatted to the bar staff. They'd never heard of Ipswich. One asked me which part of London I came from. I don't.
No contact from Tel. He's in a new job, working for a local garden centre in Halstead as a part-time van driver. He works strange hours, so we've not been able to meet for a curry since June. They're still moving. They've found a house they like in Bradfield. This was the last I heard when I met him for a curry on the 28th June. Since then, nothing. Granted, I've been away and he's been working so it's difficult, but he has renewed his season ticket so we should be ready to roll for Southampton on the 17th.
Mrs Tel has been in hospital. Only briefly, in June, a series of tests and she was only in for one night.
I think that's everything. Roll on the new season. It's getting very dull out here in the sticks.
No. It's the usual "we haven't really got a pot to piss in so are chancing it on untried German and League One players we don't have to pay much for" scenario from a middle-of-the-table Championship side.
Lose Sargent and that gobbing Spanish striker and they are much weaker.
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