The month kicks off with
Tuba asking to come off the transfer list. After four goals in two games, I grudgingly accede to the moody snail-chomping tubster’s request.
Still, as one door opens, another slams in your face.
Peckham Puffin damages a shoulder in training. Fuck. He’ll be out for up to a month. He’s joined in the physio’s room by both my starting fullbacks –
Meat On The Ledge breaks his nose, while
Jocky Wilson Says suffers a bruised jaw, both will miss 2 weeks
Much-needed reinforcements arrive for midfield –
My One Dad ,
Racing Zeppelin,
Pity The Fool and right wing
Me Buckin’ At are all back, albeit short of match-sharpness.
Falkirk get their first win of the season, beating Motherwell 2-1, while Livingston also lose again, 1-0 at home to Partick. A win at home against 8th-place St. Johnstone on Wednesday will put us 8 points clear at the top.
So in many ways it’s a pity that we create absolutely nothing in the first half and ship two goals in a bad case of GLitF(aS)OS. There’s a bit of a shouting-match at halftime, but after the break we’re still struggling to impose ourselves on the game with St. Johnno’s three-man midfield overrunning Not The Carpenters and a not-at-match-speed Racing Zeppelin in the middle.
Ten minutes into the second half, and it’s obvious we need a change. We go to three at the back, with a midfield diamond and three up top, When The Chevy Breaks replacing Ask Doctor Stupid. The tempo goes up and we switch to direct passing, hoping to bypass that stifling midfield altogether. Almost immediately, we pull one back – a corner from Not The Carpenters met on the volley by
Other Seagull. Fifteen minutes to go, another Carpenters corner,
Ring Of Jeffrey with the diving header and we’re back to all-square. Aaaaaaaand in the 84th minute, Other Seagull bungs a longish throw into the box, where – who else? –
Time Tuba swivels and sees his shot deflect off a defender in off the far post.
“A comfortable win for Raith!” says the commentary. EH? You did SEE the bit where we scored three goals in half an hour to come back from two down, didn’t you?
Tuba’s carried off injured ten minutes into our away game at second-bottom Airdrie, and without our two top scorers we duly struggle. A tedious game ends goalless but football is the real loser, Brian.
Electric Boogaloo demands first-team football. I demand he shuts the fuck up. He issues a public apology for being a twat. As well he might.
We’re off to Dundee next, and that means a week’s attendance at the Mutual Appreciation Society with their manager, Gordon “You’re My Best Friend In The Whole World” Dalziel. Ten minutes in, and they’re one up – a simple header from a free kick. Hang on, I don’t like him THAT much!
The goal’s still the difference at half-time, but we’ve given as good as we’ve got so it’s the cheerleader routine as opposed to the hairdryer treatment. The team come tearing out to start the second half, keen to be away from my short skirt and jiggling pom-poms as quickly as possible. Five minutes later, we’re back on terms – a lovely whipped near-post cross by Bride Of Chuckie met by
Ring Of Jeffrey, who’s a handy man with a diving header. It’s
Jeffery again on the hour – this time, he springs the offside trap to get onto a diagonal ball lofted from deep, rounds the keeper and slides the ball home. I make a couple of subs to try and close the game down, and somewhat ironically, they combine in the 90th minute to add a third – Dehydrated Henchman’s corner headed in by
My One Dad.
St. Johnstone want Bride Of Chuckie on loan. Yes, I’m sure you do.
Away to Motherwell, we’re behind twice and equalise twice –
Cool And Froody and current marked-for-death form-player
Ring Of Jeffrey. I’ll take a point in a game away from home in which we were distinctly second-best, thanks.
After a bit of a lacklustre – albeit unbeaten – month, nobody in the squad comes close to winning any of the October attaboys.
Still, fuck ‘em all, eh?