Getting bored are we? In need of a new blog to read?
How about this then?
Wolves managers since Mad Mick McCarthy… as famous works of art.
Stupid idea but you’re going to get my take on it anyway.
Starting with the man himself. I see him as ‘The Laughing Cavalier’ by Frans Hals. Charismatic, loveable, self-confident, a little bit of knowing arrogance, cross him and he’ll run you through with his trusty blade… but underneath it all, perhaps a bit of a doughnut? Far be it for me to say.
Then there’s Terry Connor. Mr Clipboard. A proud man who was literally thrown to the Wolves by the terrible twins. Totally out of his depth with no chance of survival. It’s Edwin Landseer’s ‘A Stag at bay’ for him.
Next comes Stale Solbakken. Started off really well but the players could not, or would not, come to grips with his tactics and it all ended up in tears. Marcel Duchamp’s ‘Nude descending a staircase’ for him I think. Something which promises a lot, should be really exciting. But when you get down to it you can’t for the life of you see any interesting bits or what’s meant to be happening.
Who’s next? Ah Yes, another brain fade by Morgan and Moxey. Dean Saunders. The Deanster. It’s got to be ’The Scream’ by Edward Munch. What was that man on? You can even see the terrible twins in the background as Saunders goes through his own personal nightmare.
I suppose even the worst judges of management material are likely to get it right once. And they did with Kenny Jackett. It was during his tenure that I fell back in love with Wolves. Cuddly and safe, Kenny reunited the fans with the club and put us back on the road to salvation. When I think of him I see Poo Bear as depicted by E H Shepard. I particularly like the picture of him in discussion with Jez Moxey.
Then came the big take over and poor old Kenny was out. The new owners proved that they could screw up managerial appointments just as well if left to their own devices, so one Walter Zenga was parachuted in with great fanfare… and rushed out of the door shortly afterwards. His appointment was a load of Jackson Pollocks. A lesson well learned there. Never make an ex goalkeeper your manager (!?)
A safe pair of hands was needed, so Paul Lambert was the obvious choice. Shame about the language barrier. Mr Zenga was easier to understand at press conferences and the football, apart from a memorable trip to Merseyside, was mostly forgettable. We were treading water. Going nowhere. Bring on the classic ‘Ascending and descending’ by Escher.
Now for Nuno. What can you say about the man that hasn’t been said before? Much better writers than I have waxed lyrical about him, his character, his man-management, his astute tactical brain, his ever so slight dislike of the football press, his… beard even.
When it comes to a piece of art that represents, to me, everything about Nuno, I was torn between several stools. The short list eventually came down to two.
One was The Mona Lisa, because she is one of the best loved pictures in World art. She is a bit of an enigma. Obviously has hidden depths which we will never discover.
The other is a not particularly well-known painting by The Pre-Raphaelite master, William Holman-Hunt – no smutty jokes here please, I’m trying to be serious. It’s a night scene and depicts a bearded man carrying a lantern. The man is Jesus Christ. He’s knocking at an overgrown and locked door.
It’s an allegorical painting, and the meaning is simple.
“If you let me in, I will enter and bring light into your dark existence.”
The painting is called ‘The Light of the World’.
I’m no Peter Knowles. Religion and me don’t mix I’m afraid, but I reckon it sums up Nuno, and his effect on the club we all love, perfectly.
He knocked, we let him into our club and our hearts.
And out of the darkness, came light.
Nuno – The Light of The Wolves.