An open letter to Tony Pulis
Dear Tony
Just had to drop you a line to thank you for the 10 hours of my life I’ll never get back.
I had really been looking forward to my first away game in a while, although not so much the drive up from the south coast but hey, over land and sea etc.
Having been delayed on the glorious M3 and forgoing my planned food break for just some wee relief akin to a Formula 1 pit stop, the sat nav brought me upon your ground.
Things started to look up when I managed to park directly opposite the ground (once I had been relieved of five of your English pounds). I’ve never parked so easily and so close to a ground, surely a sign that after the testing drive the day was going to get better.
As I wended my way to the ground (for wended substitute crossed the road) I chanced upon a purveyor of what looked like quality hot meat products. So tasty did they look (and I was starving) I took up the offer of both a burger and hot dog.
Bimbling towards the away end the hot meat products turned out to be as scrumptious as they looked. Another win. An extra bit of spring appeared in my step as the gods seemed to be aligning.
In to the ground and a kindly steward pointed me in the direction of my seat. I was delighted at what was a really good view and an aisle seat. Being six foot two I’m always grateful of a bit of extra room. Another win.
What could go wrong now?
Well that question was answered when the referee blew his whistle to get the game underway.
I, and everyone else in the ground, was treated to a masterclass in game killing and tedium.
West Ham tried their best, yes we weren’t on top form with some sloppy passing, but as the away side we had 63% possession. That stat sums up how negative and disinterested in creating anything for yourselves you were.
From the first minute you played for a 0-0 draw. Well done.
Now yes I do feel a bit sorry for myself being in attendance at such a dreadful spectacle, but my heart actually goes out to your own fans.
Man alive, how awful must it be to know you’re going to be served up this tosh every week. Your ground is a nice ground, all four stands close to the pitch. There should be a cauldron atmosphere there. It’s perfect for creating noise and intimidating opposition.
But as I looked round during the game there was nothing. No singing, no chanting, no atmosphere. Just blank expressions of fans who had had any kind of enthusiasm battered out of them by week after week of negative non-football.
You are in danger of losing a generation of fans. When the kids attending now with their parents grow up will they have the same desire and passion for their team as they should?
Not when their memories are of such negative non-football. When they start drifting away and not in turn bringing their children the club is in trouble.
Yes I’m sure you’ll grind out enough points to achieve Premier league survival again, but at what cost?
On the 3 hour drive home I entertained myself with guessing how long the highlights would be on Match of the Day. I settled on 3. There were actually 5, but 1 minute of that was devoted to talking about Gareth Barry during the warm up, and another minute was spent on several replays of Ben Foster and his special way of saying hello to oncoming forwards. So a net of 3, another win.
So, after arriving home at 8.30, 10 hours after I had left, what I had I got from the day? A decent parking space, some nice food, an aisle seat and I realised my phone took a pretty nifty picture.
I had also visited a four sided graveyard where football goes to die.
Yours sincerely
Mike Ireson
