I've been a bit too over ambitious I think. I'd been trying to be a serious football blogger, writing lengthy odes to coaches and players I love. Trying to write essays and critiques of playing styles and the state of the game today. Quite frankly, that's why this blog had been dead on it's feet for a while, to use a football analogy (and what the hell it's a football blog, why not?) I'd been trying to make Lincoln City play like Barcelona. I haven't the skill nor the time to write Guardian Sport Blog-esque posts so from now on I'll just whack down whatever musings I can.
The first of these musings I'm going to put into words on this fresh start for 'Steven Carr...' has to be about my hometown club and the team I've supported ever since my emigration from The Red Devils Infant Fan Club aged 10, and since that day I've proved somewhat of a lucky charm to my beloved Baggies. That was the year Meggo did the impossible and kept an incredibly lacklustre side in the old First Division before laying the foundations of a Premiership club at The Hawthorns. That's another very long story for another day however. We've just been promoted again, guaranteeing ourselves automatic promotion with a 3-2 away win at Doncaster (one of my favourite Championship sides this year). I watched it the result flow through in a pub after having just signed a contract on a house with two good friends, it was a warm, early April day so that first pint I was supping at the time was utterly delightful. Yet as I watched the fans flood on to the pitch and our backroom and coaching staff rush on with them I felt somewhat numb. I must say this is my overwhelming feeling over the course of the entire season. A kind of detached, numb feeling towards a club that have made me cry with happiness and binge drink in disappointment over the last ten years. Why?
While trying to think of the answer I ran through several theories. I only made the trip to The Hawthorns twice this season due to a lack of funds, the first game of the season against Newcastle was paid for by my blogging brother John Tipper. Maybe the lack of community spirit and watching my team in the flesh created somewhat of a gulf? I have yet to warm to Roberto Di Matteo, I even despise his nickname which sounds robotic and on second thoughts maybe that is a perfect nickname for him because in his attempts to sound like a poor man's Jose Mourinho he just comes across as someone completely devoid of passion, looking only to seal three points. I openly admit I am a dedicated devotee in The Church of Mowbray but not only am I bemoaning the loss of our side's dedication to entertain at all costs but with Big Tone I felt that he believed in the club, in the fans and in trying to create a philosophy of West Bromwich Albion whereas I feel Di Matteo is using the club as a stepping stone to his dreams of taking the reins at Chelsea. Maybe it is the fact that all but the most pessimistic of supporters has been expecting promotion since the day we were relegated last season? To be honest it's probably a combination of all these things. But you know what?
I am absolutley buzzing about the prospect of enduring another seaosn of nail-biting, binge drinking, ecstatic celebrations, boing-boinging and most likely crushing heartbreak come May. Albion 'til I die, and all that eh?
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