hintonsboots

Warne has secured a bobble hat sponsorship with Millets.

That’s two of you then.

Melanie Morris ?

Couhig to be probed by the EFL ?

I was expecting Wycombe to scoop all the awards.

PG Wodehouse from the Directors box. Ah, what a jolly spectacle unfolded at Fratton Park this evening! One simply cannot help but marvel at the peculiar charm of this island oasis amidst the tumultuous seas of English football. As the rain hammered down upon the pitch, making it a more suitable surface for Torvill and Dean, it seemed as if the very essence of sporting drama had been distilled into this quaint corner of Portsea Island. Picture, if you will, the gallant clash between two titans of the game, Derby and their valiant hosts, engaged in a battle of wits and skill upon the hallowed turf. Twice did Derby gallantly surge ahead, their spirits buoyed by the promise of victory, only to be thwarted by the indomitable Moxon, whose strike left Collins and Thompson resembling naught but ethereal phantoms vanishing with the dawn. Oh, how the Rams’ keeper, Wildsmith, must have felt as though he were soaring through the skies like the legendary Superman, yet clutching in his grasp a shard of Kryptonite, his nerves as shaken as a dry Martini in the hands of a trembling barman. Ward, with his brace of goals, appeared poised to secure the coveted three points for his side, yet in the grand scheme of things, it was Derby’s prowess without possession that truly shone. Admirable in their defensive fortitude, they emerged from the fray with a well-earned point, a veritable jewel in their crown that may yet prove pivotal in the grand reckoning of the season. And let us not forget the luminous Adams, whose brilliance on the field knows no bounds. One can only imagine the splendour of his performance when fully nourished, like a fine vintage reaching its peak. And what of CBT, growing sharper with each passing game, his assist a thing of beauty akin to a sly fox evading the hounds, waved on by the benevolent hand of Sonny Bradley. In the end, it is Warne, contented with his hard-earned point, who leads his bobble-hatted charges forth into the final four games with spirits soaring as high as the lofty spires of Fratton Park. Oh, what joyous tales these grounds do tell, where the drama of the beautiful game unfolds with all the wit and whimsy of a tale spun by the master raconteur himself.

About 10k ?

It’s on Sky mate.

He did well to stay on his feet, it was a shoulder charge with a fair bit of weight/ aggression behind it.

Pompey 0 Derby 1 Cashin

P.G Wodehouse from the directors box. The Rams, dashed onto the verdant stage of Pride Park this fine afternoon, their hearts aflutter with the prospect of securing three points to solidify their automatic promotion berth. Despite their lengthy injury roster, the lineup boasted an air of resplendence that would make even the most stoic of fans tip their hats to the physio team in admiration. NML, akin to a modern-day Lazarus, had risen from the infirmary to grace the field, while CBT took his place amongst the starting eleven. Memories of Blackpool’s prior triumph in August lingered like the faint aroma of mulligatawny soup in a humble eatery—a dish best left unstirred. With a collective determination to erase the memory of their lacklustre performance at Northampton, the Rams elevated their game to dizzying heights. Bradley, orchestrating affairs from the stands with the flair of a seasoned conductor, directed the stewards with a whirl of his arms. Then, in a moment that shall be etched in the annals of footballing lore, Adams seized upon a loose ball at the precipice of the penalty area, unleashing a half-volley of such precision and velocity that it nestled, like a contented dormouse, into the top corner of the net, a goal that clinched victory for the Rams. But it was then all hands to the pumps with Cashin and Nelson, akin to gladiators of old, forming an impregnable wall alongside the stalwart trio of Wildsmith, Ward, and Sibley. And lo, the Birmingham Buffalo strode the field with a majesty befitting of ancient monarchs. As the final whistle heralded relief and jubilation in equal measure, Warne, the tactical maestro, engaged in a spirited dance with Ebou at the centre circle—a spectacle reminiscent of the finest ballroom extravaganzas. Let us now set our sights on Tuesday’s encounter with Pompey, dear reader, and may we waltz past them with the grace and finesse of true champions. Up the Rams!

Derby 3 Pool 0 NML

Phil McCrackin would be useful on our pitch.

F*** me you’re a bit abrasive this evening. Is it hormonal ?

How dare you. The only game I ever left early was Wolves away. 2-1 down. When I got back to the car , we’d won 3-2 . Goals from Ormondroyd I think ? Before your time mate.

Carrying the kit bag ?

Yes we looked strong v Northampton from the 85th minute onwards.

Love this line up. Let’s just go for it.

Currently brewing coffee for the gaffer.

There are no easy games between now and the end of the season for us or our promotion rivals. I think Collo, Wash and CBT need to find the net ( Waggy doesn’t give me much hope) and pray no further hammy’s are forthcoming. Huge game v Blackpool now after the load of Cobblers on Saturday.

CBT has to start and do something to repay the massive fee we paid for him.

No team in the history of Professional football has ever played that sh1t two games on the bounce.

P.G Wodehouse from the directors box. Upon the dreary canvas of this afternoon’s spectacle, painted with strokes of ineptitude and dashed hopes, one solitary silver lining emerged: the absence of my dear chum, Clarence Threapwood, the 9th Earl of Emsworth, from the lamentable affair. Engaged, fortuitously, in the matrimonial celebrations of a member of the DCFC fan’s forum, he was spared the spectacle of our team’s lamentable performance. Reports of the bride’s radiance and intellect, ample enough for two, provided a faint glimmer of mirth amidst the otherwise dismal proceedings, for surely she possessed wit enough to comprehend the gravity of her matrimonial choice. My only hope is the Groom’s despondency at the result doesn’t derail his wedding night. Alas, my afternoon was not blessed with such diversion, and I spent 90 minutes plus ten added praying for my fountain pen to give up the ghost. As I endured a woeful display of hoofball from Warne’s bobble hatted charges, bereft of precision, potency, or tenacity, against the hapless Northampton Town, who lack even a Subbuteo set to their name. Bradley, in particular, resembled naught but a flailing marionette caught in a tempest, with many an experienced undertaker being deceived by his appearance and starting to embalm on sight. To use the analogy of the sport of shooting Derby ended upon the wrong end of the gun, with a limp wristed display reminiscent of Torquay Utd at their best. Sonny’s subsequent banishment from the pitch, though regrettable, may indeed harbour a silver lining, for perhaps absence will lend him time to rediscover his vigour. As we face the looming encounter with Blackpool, the need for three points and a performance befitting professional footballers hangs heavy upon our shoulders, a task of Herculean proportions in our current state of disarray.