Alf Garnett, Kriss Akabusi, Noel Edmunds, Billy Mitchell, Chesney Hawkes…Your boys took one hell of a beating!
To quote a former Wolves legend who knows a bit about football: “All over the pitch, Wolves have been quicker, sharper and hungrier than West Ham.”

Zubar superbly smashed home the second
Andy Gray was underplaying it with his summary, as we completely took the piss out of West Ham from the first minute to the last.
Nobody could have predicted a 3-1 win at Upton Park, and a performance that had more poetry about it than a bunch of daffodils and William Wordsworth.
Poetic that porn baron David Sullivan had to suffer in silence in his utterly preposterous winter jacket.
Poetic that he could probably do with Steve Bruce or Alex McCleish right now after treating them so shabbily at Blues, while his current manager ‘rested’ Parker, Cole and co on Saturday as he lined up a home banker against Wolves – without the Premier League batting an eye-lid.
But enough of them lot. Well done Mick, well done lads, you’ve done us proud. And not for the first time.
Kevin Doyle led from the front again and deserved yet another man-of-the-match award, but could probably split it 11 ways as every single player looked in a different league.
How good were we?! This felt like more than a result and more than 3 points. It was a marker to the whole of the footballing world that we do posses Premier League class and can fit into all of those annoying clichés that are usually reserved for others.
Goals of Premier League quality, a Premier League performance, and an ability to seize on errors as only Premier League sides can.
You can hear it now: ‘Don’t give Wolves space or they’ll punish you.’ Hooray!
Elokobi, in at left back, looked every inch a Premier League left back, while Henry and Jones looked like they’d been bossing the Boleyn Ground all their lives. I needn’t have worried about Mancienne replacing Adlene either.
And what about the others? Craddock and Zubar made Cole about as effective as he was at Molineux all those seasons ago, while Zubar has gone from a French speaking squad player to one of the first names on the team-sheet.
Watching him leather in the second was the most jaw dropping TV moment since Keith Chegwin got his dick out on Channel 5.
I promptly got mine out when I saw the net bulge, and had barely tucked it away before Jarvis, our most improved and most potent player, made it 3.
The goals were simplicity and beauty personified, and strikes to make Wayne Rooney an extra few grand, if it was him who had scored them.
Hahnemann, with shiny bald pate offering more reassurance than Michael Winner, continued to guide and prompt his troops on the few occasions he was troubled.
“Calm down dear, it’s a through-ball that I’m going to smother. Calm down dear, it’s a dangerous cross that I’m going to eat.”
This result, more than any other in 2 years of Premier League experience, was the most complete and most enjoyable, saying more about our immediate future than I could have ever dreamt possible.
The last word goes to Mick, who surmised: “My teams always work hard. If they don’t, then they don’t get a shirt.
“It was significant, of course it was. If any other team can put a run together like we just have, then good luck to them.”


















Latest Comment
“We'd never afford his wages, and I doubt he'd drop down anyway. Wouldn't be surprised if he retires now. ”