Yes, it does involve Wisbech town, that every game i have seen has been a lash of a whip, a whip with small hooks.

A particular savage lash came today, the Wisbech manager, having lost to Cambridge City in the Cambs pro cup final, having lost 4-1, said the team isnt good enough.

Wisbech are 4th from bottom in the united counties league. Every interview is another lash, every word an insult, his stumbling an expreesion of a subconscious problem of how do i get through this, and not appear a dufus, which he fails to do.

And so to saturday and Burslem, an old stamping ground, this blot, this gob on the pavement, and Tunstall, Fegg Hayes, all hellish expressions of the evil of socialism.

And United. Surely, hoisted up, nails in wrists, nails in feet, crying in pain, endless endless pain, burning thirst, blood loss, blood eveywhere, praying for death, and it will come.

When the winning goal for United comes.

Or will it? That a blokes from Cheltenham and Burton arrive, with water, nail removers, smiles, words of comfort, all will be well.

That United are cast down, into fire, brimstone, eternal darkness where demons laugh. Can it be?, redemption? That this chalice passes me by.?

To be replaced by another, in red, and in the fens. Is going for shocking instant coffee, a cheap burger, enough? That the shame of being there cannot be shaken off?

That all of football is run by brazen faced villains? That football is the pox of mankind? its Russia, thats its roll of honour is empty, that all are a pack of dingoes?

Is real coffee beyond football? that Lavazza is not available in hell. Either. Where am i to go from here? Swaffam?