hintonsboots

I’m voting for @Congletonram

No surprise there, married to you. 😄

Yep, deffo one for the close season...
 
 
 
 
 
 
*Googles John Bloor...

Good shout, unfinished business maybe. Not sure re John Bloor and family and their interest in football ? Thread needed after the final game.

Good shout, unfinished business maybe. Not sure re John Bloor and family and their interest in football ? Thread needed after the final game.

Pride Park Stadium
KO - 12.30
Ticket Update: Forgeddaboutit
Match is  also live on Sky Sports
What it is to be a Derby fan. After Northampton, even yours truly was feeling a tad deflated. With Blackpool, Pompey and Wycombe next up, my mood was more pensive and hopeful, than upbeat, as many others seemed to feel that we'd blown another golden opportunity. In fairness, that was understandable, if only to a point. Happily though, it appears that Warne and the chaps did not get the memo informing them of their impending capitulation and decided to go on an 5 game unbeaten run instead. That effort not only cemented us in the top 2, as others buckled under pressure, but now sees us teetering right on the edge of promotion glory; agonisingly poised, we have one foot in the sunlit uplands of the Championship (*shudder), the other remaining firmly planted in the nightmarish possibility of yet more play-off induced football terrors. But need we really be worried? 
After recent history and the near demise of our great club, I think it's understandable that some Derby fans might adopt a mildly cautious outlook and demeanour. In recent years, whatever may go wrong, typically has done and in so much, it's fair to say that a robust constitution is a mandatory requirement for a group of fans who've had more than their fair share share of emotional kickings over the last decade. Most Rams will confess that in some ways, it's hard not to expect the worst, based on recent history, but then isn't the dream what it's all about? After all, if you strip away the hopes and dreams, what do you really have left? It's been a season to test our nerves, that much is clear, but despite a lot of infighting, we've hung it all together in the end and here we are, fate firmly in our own hands. Remember too, that for some of our young 'uns, Saturday is a potentially momentous day. Automatic promotions don't come around every year and many won't have experienced one in their lives to date and for our elder statesmen and women, this could be an emotional roller coaster too. 
Outside the club itself, expectations are sky high. The bookmakers have all but closed the book on our promotion chances and after all, a single point is all we require against a Carlisle side who remain 10 points adrift at the very foot of the table and with seemingly nothing other than professional pride at stake. The oddsmakers are undoubtedly right from a statistical standpoint, but playing devil's advocate for a moment, Carlisle will view this as a free hit and will play without pressure (think Wycombe) and for some, the game provides an ideal opportunity to showcase their talents in a high-profile game with the Sky cameras watching on. Summer moves may beckon, for any player who shines.
Worthy favourites then, IMHO, but doubtless a good few will still be anxiously awaiting Saturday's outcome.
Not me mind. I’ll be drunk from @noon on Wednesday.
The Permutations:
Quite simple now, on paper at least; a win or a draw and we say, 'hasta la visa, baby' and kiss this league goodbye, hopefully forever. A loss, by a single goal would leave Bolton needing to beat Posh 3-0 in order to break the hearts of the Rams faithful, snatching 2nd place by virtue of having scored more goals. Not quite the proverbial slam-dunk then, but we're strong favourites, all the same and rightly so IMO.
Elsewhere, we, along with Bolton, will be hoping Posh slip up midweek; Posh will be hoping they don't and Barnsley and Lincoln will be nervously looking over their shoulders with both Oxford and Blackpool snapping at their heels. I'd dearly love to see Blackpool snatch the last playoff slot! 
 


The key fixtures for the final rounds, with promotion hopefuls underlined, are as below:
Tuesday 23/04-2024
Cheltenham vs Peterborough - 19.45
Saturday 27/04/2024
Barnsley vs Northampton - 12.30
Exeter vs Oxford - 12.30
Lincoln Vs Portsmouth - 12.30
Peterborough vs Bolton - 12.30
Reading Vs Blackpool - 12.30
My guesses are Posh to beat Cheltenham and draw with Bolton. Barnsley to beat Northampton, Oxford to turn over Exeter, Lincoln and Pompey to draw and Blackpool to beat Reading. Make of that what you will! 
Our Opponents – A Brief History:
Founded in 1896 as Shaddongate United, Carlisle United Football Club is a professional association football club based in Cumbria, who have played their home games at Brunton Park since 1909. The club's traditional kit is blue with white and red detail, whilst the badge takes elements from the city's coat of arms by including two Wyverns. They are nicknamed the "Blues", due to their kit, as well as the "Cumbrians". The club is the northernmost English professional football club seated close to the Anglo-Scottish border. Crowned Lancashire Combination, Division Two champions in 1906–07, they entered the North Eastern League in 1910 and went on to win the league title in 1921–22, before being elected into the Football League in 1928. 
Head to Head:
Sadly, Carlisle have a pretty decent record against our beloved Rams. Twenty-three competitive fixtures have seen Derby win 9, draw 6 and lose 8. Our first fixture, in the old Division 3 North back in 1955, saw Derby win 3-0. More recently, the two teams have met three time in the last decade with Derby bookending the decade with 2-0 wins, with a 1-1 between them.
Games Played: 23
Games Won:9
Games Drawn:6
Games Lost:8
Our last Meeting:
The corresponding fixture at Brunton Park was way back in September with a James Collins brace giving the game a rather more comforting veneer than was perhaps warranted. Carlisle looked tidy and Gibson and Moxon in particular, gave Derby plenty to think about. On that performance, you might have been forgiven for thinking Carlisle would do ok this season, but it’s fair to say that things have not gone well for the Cumbrian outfit and their relegation was a formality from some way out.
Carlisle United - Recent Form:
Carlisle's recent form has been distinctly patchy, with their last 5 games comprising a 3-1 home loss to that awful club near Henley, another home loss by the odd goal to Blackpool, a hard-earned away win at Cheltenham, before consecutive losses to Northampton and Lincoln. 
Saturday 20th April
Carlisle United 1 Wycombe Wanderers 3
Saturday 13th April
Carlisle United 0 Blackpool 1
Tuesday 9th April
Cheltenham Town 0 Carlisle United 1
Saturday 6th April
Northampton Town 2 Carlisle United 0
Monday 1st April
Carlisle United 1 Lincoln City 3
Carlisle United - Key Players:
Quite a relief that we won’t be facing Owen Moxon, snapped up by Pompey in the January window. Most of what was good about Carlisle seemed to start with him, but in Jordan Gibson, they still retain some meaningful threat. He's tricky with ball at feet, looks to attack and has a shot on him. He tops the scorer’s chart with 7 goals and 3 assists whilst Sam Lavelle with 4 assists is a goal provider to note. Mellish with 5 goals and Butterworth and Garner with 4 a piece, round out the principal Carlisle goal threats. it would be remiss not to mention also that their current manager, is none other than the much respected, Paul Simpson. Nudge, nudge, wink wink, Paul! The other ex-Rams fun fact would be that Luke Plange had a brief and unremarkable spell with the Cumbrians this season, before seeking warmer weather with HJK Helsinki.
Rams Team News:
Some will be itching for change after a stuttering performance at Cambridge. My own thoughts on that game are that Cambridge fought ridiculously hard and we had to try and match that extreme intensity before we could even think about playing our game. The pitch looked both short and narrow to me had clearly been subject to a hosepipe ban and I think all of these factors led to a feisty and extremely combative game, from which we did well to emerge with maximum points. Back on home soil, a larger pitch and a (marginally) better surface, I’d expect us to look rather more fluid.
Sadly, this will be the last time we get to watch young Max Bird play for the club. There’s been some really silly stuff written about our most technically gifted footballer and I have to confess that seeing him leave for Brizzle will be like a kick to the gut. That said, the fee garnered enabled some key signings and it could be argued that in hindsight, this was smart business. Nah, I'm not convinced either, but needs must? Quite possibly. Irrespective, I’d love to see him among the starting 11 for his swansong. I’m sure the Derby faithful will give him the send-off he deserves, in what may be a somewhat bittersweet celebration, for both us as fans and Max himself, lest we forget.
With that in mind, here’s my team selection, which will of course in no way resemble the gaffer’s:
 

 

The defence really needs to remain unchanged. A more determined and obdurate back 3 you’d struggle to find. Wildsmith retains the #1 jersey, despite some idiosyncratic ball distribution. To my way of thinking, he makes saves that matter and that outweighs his wayward passing.
I’ve drafted in Bird to replace Korey Smith, who would perhaps be hard done by should Warne follow suit. Max would partner the irrepressible Ebou Adams, a pairing that ought to give us a solid foundation in midfield. Working hard on the flanks, I’d have Wilson and Sibley, two players I absolutely love. The latter especially, has really matured over the course of the season, proving yours truly and others wrong in the process and he has oodles of ability if this progress and work ethic can be maintained.
Thommo is also retained and will hopefully sit a little higher and rat like his life depends on it. He and Collo put in Herculean shifts against Cambridge, doing the work that seldom attracts the plaudits, but is often key to our success. He can also interchange with a front two of Collo and Nate, who should give Carlisle plenty to think about. Barks, Gayle and Smith appear the obvious change-ups, with Hourihane, Vickers and Elder in reserve, but much will depend on who is truly healthy on the day.
And that, ladies and gentlemen is me done for the season. I’m fancying us for a decent performance, with a little style on show after an early goal to settle the nerves. 3-0 is the call with Collo, Nate and Sibs my fancies as the scorers. After some 55 games across the season, this one has definitely felt like something of a marathon, but in spite of the divided fan base, I’ve enjoyed seeing us tough it out. The football has been mildly bipolar, great one week, not so much the next, but I think all sides at this lowly level are inconsistent, only us and Pompey slightly less so than the others. Should we progress, of course we will face different challenges, but we will also have a very different playing roster. Doubts about the style of football will persist, but personally, I don't think Clowes will even contemplate letting Warne go and as such, Warne will retain my support until such time as he doesn't! 
Here’s hoping then,  for a resounding win, a respectful but joyous celebration of an important and healing day for all connected with the club and one that the majority can safely enjoy. Also, calm and stress-free journeys for any fans travelling significant distances and a bright and shiny, new future for Derby County Football club.
COYR
BE MORE B4
 

He's my hero. Saved our club and looks like undoing the bulk of the damage endured under MM in only his second season as owner. Deserves all the plaudits he gets in spades IMO.

Tbh it went like this :
EFL announce new TV money deal = Mel disapproves and starts a campaign against EFL= they turn against him = EFL approves DCFC’s amortisation structure = Maguire writes an email  to EFL to highlight how such a scheme actually works = EFL charge Derby = Middlesbrough jump on the bandwagon = Derby acquitted = appeal = different panel = derby found guilty = then ambulance wants some piece of the action = EFL want to use Derby as a scapegoat for their failings to properly outline a FFP plan and to be seen to be doing a better job. 

I have always liked PW but at one stage I passed over to the just about had enough of this side of the argument after a negative spell but never stopped supporting and wanting us to win. But then I stopped doing the matchday prediction thread and Adams was signed. Not sure which had greatest effect! 
With the injuries he has had, especially to forward players, PW and his team have had a brilliant run-in. Hope we get the dream end next week with a win. Saw some idiot post thanks for promotion now bye bye on twitter. Words fail me.  On the injuries front couple of weeks ago heard a radio discussion on EPL and how many coaches were linking increase in certain injuries to the additional time being played and general delays in games this season. Sure this will be discussed more
 
Should have stuck with my initial view of PW that he is just what we needed post admin. Looking forward to him being the boss next season wherever we are. 

We have to, and will, try to beat Carlisle. Hopefully by several goals, and hopefully it will effectively be over by half time.

You will be if you get defibrillated mate.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

Derby: Clowes warned by EFL pitch invasion independent disciplinary commission that a points deduction will be considered at both Cambridge Utd and Pride Park, should fans encroach. Three man panel of Parry, Gibson, Couhig to oversee punishment. More in paper tomorrow. #reluctantnicko.

He strikes me as being a volatile character, capable of astonishing lapses in concentration but also brilliant saves.
His unpredictability is probably the thing which has held him back.
Some of his kicking today was unfathomable but his one-handed save was instinctive and impressive.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.

PG Wodehouse from the directors box.
Ah, what a jolly morning it was, dear chum! The sun beamed down upon us as we indulged in the quintessentially English pursuit of punting, navigating the tranquil waters with the finesse of seasoned oarsmen. Our hearts lightened further as we repaired to the Botanical Gardens, where libations flowed freely, and the fragrant blooms provided a most agreeable backdrop for our conviviality. Ah, but I must confess, my good fellow, I found myself obliged to decline young Shaun Barker’s entreaty for a round of ten-pin bowling, lest I risked forsaking the tranquility of our day’s pursuits. Instead, we ascended to the exalted environs of the director’s box, where great expectations filled the air like the scent of freshly-cut grass on a summer’s day.
And lo, as the match unfolded before us, it was young Sibley who, with a flick of his hair reminiscent of a dashing hero from the pages of a romantic novel, delivered a pass of such sublime weight and direction that even NML, blessed with the accuracy of a marksman, could not fail to convert it into the winning goal, thereby securing for Derby the coveted three points that now lay within our grasp like ripe fruit ready for the plucking. Indeed, our destiny, like a ship guided by a steady hand upon the helm, now rested firmly in our own hands.
Yet, let us not discount the valiant efforts of our adversaries from Cambridge United, who fought tooth and nail to thwart our aspirations. Wildsmith, our custodian between the sticks, displayed a fortitude akin to that of a one-legged war veteran, kicking and flapping with a determination that belied his circumstances. Our nerves, I must confess, were sorely tested, akin to the frayed edges of a well-read novel.
But now, dear friend, our attention turns to the grand spectacle that awaits us next Saturday, where we shall once again take to the field, this time against the venerable Simmo and his stalwart band of disciples. A single point, so they say, shall suffice to elevate us to the sunlit uplands of the Championship, where glory and adulation await like eager suitors at a debutante’s ball.
It shall be a contest of wits and wills, where the bobble-hatted tactical maestro Warne shall endeavor to marshal his forces with the precision of a seasoned general. Let us rally behind him, dear comrade, for victory is within our grasp, like a well-struck ball sailing towards the goalposts of destiny.