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The Wanderer - issue 119 - http://www.wwisc.co.uk/

The Wanderer - issue 119 - Online - WYCOMBE WANDERERS INDEPENDENT SUPPORTERS CLUB - http://www.wwisc.co.uk/

The Wanderer - issue 119 - Online - WYCOMBE WANDERERS INDEPENDENT SUPPORTERS CLUB - http://www.wwisc.co.uk/

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It may surprise you to know that we were top of the table for most of the term, but our

luck being what it was, by the time everyone was barking ‘Who Ate All The Pangolines?’

and the world was shutting down, we were just outside the top six. So when virus

stopped play, things were looking a bit sticky.

Well, that's when the bun fight started in earnest, with everyone, his wife and his

Twitter account trying to work out how best to end the season for all concerned while

retaining the integrity (I know...big yok-yoks!) of the League. As you would expect, there

was a surfeit of bigwiggery, honking and yammering on the airwaves about fairness and

the best way to get the biggest teams into the playoffs, throughout which we proudly

maintained a dignified silence. Jimbo claims that was only because, having tried to

explain the offside rule and how Bayo manages to play football without actually moving

to our new owners, Trev thought it best not to excite them with an insight into the

machinations of the EFL and so just smiled and nodded through the Zoom meetings and

pretended the sound on his laptop was playing up.

Upshot of it all was, the EFL brainiacs came up with some equation which allowed us to

leap over some pretty angry frogs into third place and a chance for a tilt at an historic

promotion. Facing another season down in the brown stuff, there was a lot of wailing

and crying into chequebooks from some of our gracious opponents. So much so that on

a quiet night you can sometimes still hear it. Of course, humiliation is immediately

predicted by all and sundry, but it turns out that all through the lay-off, while the suits

were carping at each other, old Long Hair and the PE teacher had so much success in

making the workforce eat melons, ride bikes and do press-ups in front of inspirational

cinemagraphs from the below stairs staff, that they come out of the stalls like Seabiscuit

and three games later, we’re on the Championship gravy train.

So here we are - up with the slightly bigger boys. Revenue doubled, the chance of more

of the lower orders squeezing through the turnstiles and even more televisual and

wireless moolah, but after all we’ve done for the club through the lean years, no thankyou,

no-one answers my calls, the free mattress got recalled and now yours truly can’t

get access to the drinks cabinet or even the left-over Tom Kerridge pies! It's hard being

frozen out of the decision making...even if I never actually made any...but really it's the

social side I miss. My heart did rise when I heard Rob ‘n Pete were planning on funding

a Yo-Yo Club, but I’ve seen no sign of exotic cocktails and risqué German cabaret, so I’m

assuming something’s been lost in translation. They are certainly the Lead Hound’s

sweetmeats around the town at the moment though and could probably lift a load of

M&S Dine In For Two’s in broad daylight, or drag a couple of three piece suites out of

John Lewis and the Old William would just chuckle and wave them on their way.

Tickets on your telephone, booking your booze in advance, edible food, having to

sing Kumbaya outside a tent before we can go in - this new world is all a bit rum, but I

suppose we had a good run. Let me know when you’re back in Blighty and though I

doubt you would want to watch it every week, if you’ve still got your diving suit and gas

mask, we might be able to take in a game!

Regards, Snooter

13

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