NOTE FROM IAIN: The Predictor League for Leicester City on Sunday is ready to enter HERE . The deadline for entries is 10am on Sunday morning.
As I prepared to watch the game at Wolves, I prepared myself for another psychological drubbing.I know a lot of us have been questioning whether it was worth it or was the game up as far as the Hammers were concerned and I am one of them.
As I passed through the living room on the way to the lounge, I paused in front of a large mirror. ‘What if ?’, I thought. Nothing lost by giving it a chance. I went up to the mirror and tried one leg first. It passed through the mirror. Then, the other leg and I was through the looking glass.
On the other side there was a football pitch mowed so that the squares looked like a chess board. A game is about to start, one team in gold and the other in claret and blue. But this is alternate universe. West Ham are playing with three at the back, a formation they should have adopted years ago. Instead, the Red King a Chilean, who it turned out was suffering from dementia, insisted on playing his formation. His lat posting was at the Charge of the Light Brigade.
This team seemed so solid. I lost that sick feeling in my stomach that whatever happened up front, anything could happen at the back. Cresswell had seemed to find his place. He felt confident he could go forward and deliver his beautiful crosses. Baluena, who was supposed to be out of form , was solid. Rice was brilliant. If he were to be sold for £40 million, it would be the crime of the century. Soucek and Bowen were inspired and seemed determined to give everything. Antonio, the bull up front, was causing chaos amongst the opposition. Masuaku was a wonder with his skillful plays on the ball.
And then, an inspired goal set us on the path to glory. We were unstoppable. Why did we need to buy more players, when our reserve team cost more than than the first team? Even Haller gave us a glimpse of what he could achieve. Bringing in new players could be disruptive.
The Red Queen approached me. ‘Don’t you like our new stadium? It’s so big. Have you seen me on TV pretending to be a top business woman? Don’t you think we should change our name to Olympic West Ham? It’s so much more prestigious.’
She was followed by Teedledum and Tweedledee.’Did you listen to my interview on Talksport ?’, Tweedledum asked. ‘It’s everyone else’s faults you know. I haven’t got any money’. He turned out his pockets to illustrate his point.’The fans wanted the Red King, so it’s their fault he turned out to be loco.’
Tweedledee tried to sell me a dildo, as he said his shops were in trouble.
There on a wall was Humpty Dumpty. He could come near me as he was self isolating. As the game progressed he started to do cartwheels across the wall. I warned him to be careful, as he could fall off the wall at any time.
The White Knight , who had an American accent, appeared and started negotiations to buy the football pitch from Tweedledum and Tweedledee. But they wanted at least nine hundred million currant buns and the White Knight only had three hundred million in his backpack.
The whistle went and West Ham had won 4-0. I realised this was a fantasy and woke up on the couch with the cat licking my face. Oh, if only this were possible. A West Ham with a strong defence, a brilliant midfield and an attack which could produce wonderful goals.