I’m sweating.
I’m talking rainforest sweaty.
I’m talking swamp sweaty.
I’ll stop with the sweat references now because if you’ve never seen the movie Semi Pro, those sweat-references will be wasted.
Let’s just say, I’m sweating more than Lee Evans in a sauna eating chillies.
Yeah, propa sweaty.
I have to reload the game because my laptop crashes due to the moisture.
But when it’s reloaded, I’m still sweating.
It’s 10 games into the season and my beloved Ipswich are facing a top of the table clash away to leaders Nottingham Forest, which could make or break or probably neither our season.
Because despite being predicted no-more than mid-table yo-yoyers, we’re still second and rumbling on.
All the doubters that doubted and all the haters that hated are eating a thick slice of humble pie, because since I left you last time, things have gone from strength to strength.
First up was Millwall at home, as eluded to last week. Any fears we’d be in for a shock defeat to the struggling Londoners were quickly dispelled. We pummelled them. If I could compare it to a famous childhood situation, I had the nerd down in the dirt and I was screaming, “Stop punching yourself, stop punching yourself!” over and over.
Bullying is wrong everyone, but virtual destruction of another virtual team is fine. Summer signing Atdhe Nihiu bagged his first goals for the club while top boy Dave McGoldrick thundered another to add to his collection. Stephen Hunt appeared from the bench to seal a 4-0 win and a job well done.
Top of the league and Brighton were next to cower into Portman Road, fearing a drubbing. And a drubbing they received, Nihiu at the double once more, accompanied by a lovely finish from young Jack Grealish. 3-0 and it was almost too good to be true.
But like the Norwich defeat of last week’s edition, I know something had to give. We travelled to Wigan who, on paper, were a strong team but instead found themselves languishing in the lower reaches of the standings. That didn’t stop them turning us over 2-0 in our worst display of the season to date. We were still sitting pretty in first, but only on goal difference.
I urged the boys to bounce-back. I invited skipper Luke Chambers to mine for a Adam Sandler movie-marathon. We chatted about the team, my plans and why the hot teacher from Billy Madison had never really kicked on in her career.
He fed back to the lads how we could be on to something special and on the pitch, I got the reaction I wanted.
It was a tight one, at home to second-bottom Rotherham, who gifted me the lead with an own goal. When they levelled on the stroke of half-time, though, I worried it would be more points dropped. But Nihiu was proving to be inspired business, popping up in the dying embers with a sensational long-range winner. Cue pandemonion in the dugout (a.k.a toilet – I treated myself to a much needed sit-down wee).
However, our away form was proving a concern. Just like they had done in the League Cup, Sheffield Wednesday turned us over at Hillsborough, another 2-0 defeat.
And here we are.
A win against promotion favourites Forest and we’d really be sending out a message to those other big-time computer-controlled managers in the Championship.
A defeat and we’d start to look like nothing more than a flash in the pan.
The sweat is pouring as Town take to the field. The diamond is still being utilised, like they say, ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ We look good on the ball but defensively I fear they will score with every attack.
Every set-piece that they wind up, I wince. Every free-kick that’s taken from just outside the box has the sweat dripping. I should be cool and calm but I’m so wrapped up in the game I’ve forgotten I’ve been sat next to the radiator this whole time. Come to think about it, I wasn’t even nervous.
Still, I was upset by the end of it all. My hopes of making a statement up in flames with Forest’s fire raging on. We huffed and puffed but couldn’t blow their house down and a couple of clinical finishes resulted in YET ANOTHER 2-0 loss, meaning away from home we’re about as good as a chocolate teapot.
Deliciously exciting, but impractical and leaky.
Time to wipe the sweat off my brow and go again against Blackburn.
Let’s hope the only hot stuff next time out is on the pitch, not in the make-believe technical area.
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