Since the initial post here I have been waiting for something concrete to happen. And waiting. And waiting. And then on Monday it did. Palace went up. We may have finished above them over 46 games but they smashed the subsequent cup competition. Say what you like about Ian Holloway. He knows the playoffs.
There are only two good things about Palace going up. One is that they will come straight back down having finished bottom of the Premier League or my name isn’t Lacivious Fartitude (WHAT?). The second is that we won’t play each other next season. That’s a whole season to not have to listen to tedious poo gags on top of tedious homophobic gags. It might even give a chance for the more rancorous feelings between the fans to settle down. At least the Police won’t have to stage the matches at 8am on a Thursday.
Meanwhile the rumours abound or at least they do until they’re removed from North Stand Chat. So and so are interested in Gus. We’re interested in so and so. People fell out though no one is quite saying who with who and why. So maybe they didn’t. That MESS on the dressing room floor? Bird shit. *points at Gully*
What we actually know at this stage is that we don’t know anything and as an impatient worrier I’m starting to get impatient and worry. Three of the best players during the second half of last season, Bridge, Upson and Lopez could be off. Replacing one of them would be tough. Replacing three could be expensive. And that’s another worry. With Financial Fair Play coming in and Tony Bloom rightly determined to make us solvent it’s cash we may not have. Meanwhile Palace’s win was estimated as being worth something like £145 million by The Sun. Bollocks.
My head trusts Tony Bloom implicitly. My heart? My heart wants to know what direction we’re heading in and it wants to know now. This is the problem with the always on world of internet and satellite TV. In the past we just checked the newspaper every couple of days and suddenly we’d made Alan Mullery manager or signed Steve Foster. Now every single possible outcome is churned by a media desperate for output and talking points. I tell you what, it’s no fun.
Brighton But Only At Home 