He's back, and he's BAD! That's Michael Jackson bad, not 'bad' is in a baddie. When I say 'Michael Jackson Bad', I don't mean, you know. I mean the album. Yeah? Anyway, he's back. It's our Jon. Fun Jon. With a bit about the derby game.
Open your eyes, look up to the skies and…fuck me, it’s that time again. Buckle yourself in, pop your angry face on, and inject your hatred for anything blue straight into your eyeball. Refuse blue smarties. Drive head first into blue cars. Throw any blue drinking straws straight on the floor. And as for the semi-vapid boyband? Delete all their albums from your iTunes library. (Although their 2001 chart smash All Rise does have its funky moments and can stay)
It has been so long since Ippo got one over us, I’m not sure I can remember how the tang of Derby Day Defeat feels. Like indigestion probably. Or neck ache. Who knows? Who cares? Either way, it’s an ache I can do without.
It’s been a long ol’ road for those Suffolk boys. There are Ipswich teenagers who don’t know what it is like to watch their team on Match of The Day. There are kids turning ten who don’t know what an Ipswich win vs Norwich feels like. Their last three points over us was back in 2009, the same year as the Swine Flu pandemic. Coincidence? Probably not...
Being a Town fan must feel like a zombie being hit with a crowbar. Each blow doesn’t register anymore. Our recent dominance is a dull tickle that happens to rear its beautiful head twice a year. Like getting your car tyres pumped up. Or, going to the loft to deal with Christmas decorations. It’s a chore that must be done.
Which is why it’s becoming so dangerous to be relaxed about the shit-storm that is coming. Because one day soon, your car tyre is going to explode and rip three quarters of your face off.
Which is how the Ipswich fans are going to react when they beat us. Their heads will be removed from their bodies in such wet-dream jubilation, it will be like ten matches of wins in one. Their boiling kettle has been whistling for too long for them not to boil over. You saw the way they celebrated that equaliser at Portman Road in the playoff semi. They STILL celebrate that equaliser at Portman Road in the playoff semi. And that goal meant as much as a Christmas card to you sent to the neighbours opposite, so imagine an actual winner.
Not that they shouldn’t gloat and wave their hands like they just don’t care. it’s just we’ve got to understand the neck ache is on the way. It has to. Just HAS to. I don’t want to say 'that’s football', because that isn’t a thing, but we must have the Gary Megson header moment sooner rather than later, or the Bryan Gunn air-kick will be re-enacted, by the law of averages. And Ipswich have been nothing but average for so long.
So when it comes, let’s not get too down everyone, because when it does come, scientific and medical advancements will mean we can click on someone’s actual face and block them – like Twitter. It will make the knob in the office or pub much easier to deal with as they froth from every orifice.
So, Ipswich Town. We don’t like you, we don’t enjoy playing you. So shut up, shake our hands and get beaten at a game of football.