HEAVY DISCIPLINE

Little Luton 2 Crystal Palarse 1, Kenilworth Road - 9/09/2006

Whilst gallivanting around London town the Friday night before the match, somewhere on the central line between Bank and Oxford Circus a second hand Metro passed into my hands.  “Luton Town vs Crystal Palace, 3pm”, it read.  “Town formidable at home.  METRO VERDICT- Palace win.” 

With almost every game I see it is becoming increasingly clear the Championship is nothing more than self proclaimed ‘big clubs’, too transfixed upon their past glories to realise those days have long since passed them by.  Ipswich, Norwich, Leicester, Palarse, Southampton, Leeds… all with ideas above their stadiums.  If it was not crystal clear beforehand, this game merely offered reinforcement; a recent history of moderate higher division success is never a god given right to the life of riley.  Seemingly old fashioned virtues of professionalism, hard graft, pride, honesty and blood and sweat will always overturn money and the sour impudence it brings.  And as ever as that is the case, Newell is welcome to his wages here.

The fact remains you have to be very clever to buy success. With Shefqi Kuqki performing perfectly in his role as the biggest waste of money since Clinton Morrison, Newell’s signings look comparatively brilliant.  It was obvious from the first minute onwards, as he flicked a bobbling ball through for Carlos to poke home, that Sam Parkin will prove another transfer coup.  Elsewhere Markus remains immense, simply a glacial veined genius.  Sol, by dint of poetic comparison, has remained the reliably fire blooded, brimstone booted full back we all love.  With local lad done good Leon providing the pace and spring, the first choice defence is finally appearing solid at this level.  And as it is clear Unders will struggle to regain his left midfield spot there needs little else said about Lewis Emmanuel.   

It was just like watching Brazil as Vine rounded off a passing move Betty Hoofroyd probably cannot even comprehend, and after some light entertainment in the form of a rare Feeney goal (disallowed), a Palace player got his goal bonus heading one back.  Another ‘cup final’ (their words) win for little Luton.

If there was ever a manifestation of Palace’s stink it was Jamie Scowcroft’s disgusting bar room shove on Leon, sending him into the Oak Road and onto an elderly Palace scarfer. In these instances, when justice takes the form of a yellow card, trial by vigilante would not be unjust. 

Post match, Peter Taylor, in the oft-spoken words of many a deluded manager, offered the blind defense of ‘poor referring decisions’. If that was not enough to illustrate the Messianic complex ingrained within his football club, seeing him return to the pitchside late after half time, only to run straight past the applauding away fans without a single acknowledgement surely is.  Regardless of this sickening self superiority, he must be universally absolved from sympathy simply for his collaborations with the league idiot / colossal degenerate that is Simon Jordan.  With the FA agents investigation nearing completion and his suitably barbed programme notes, there is much to remind us of the honesty and integrity of the man managing our club.  Yes, the result was sweet.  But looking beyond the three points is sweeter.  

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