Ben

The only things about pre-season that I actually embrace are seeing Mick McCarthy in shorts, having a good bit of room to stretch my legs, and the blissfully peaceful half times with no Molineux ‘entertainment’ or that nuisance two step dance academy.

Speaking of which, have any of you lot contemplated giving the fat blonde piece one for a bit of a laugh? It usually enters my head during the cold winter months as she lumbers around in spandex leotard.

I figured that it would warm me up better than a cup of Bovril, and wouldn’t cost £2.10 for the privilege. Plus, it might get me closer to the more lithe members of the troupe.

Ask you can tell, pre-season bores me. In a strange kind of way, it is probably better being a lower division club at this time of summer, as fans can enjoy a rare day in the sunshine when their side has claimed a scalp from a higher league.

Presumably, Port Vale supporters are feeling suitably chirpy. But I reckon a fair few of them also feel the same way – longing for a referee to heartily berate and a goal to celebrate with real gusto.

So to while away these tedious hours before the season properly begins, I have been reminiscing about the best halves of football I have ever seen. What are yours?

I have immediately come up with three games:

1.       Notts Forest 1st half last season 4-0 up

2.       Leicester 2nd half in 2003/04 when we scored 4 to win 4-3

3.       Birmingham City when we won 3-2, Bully bagging the winner (1995 at a guess?)

You might say I’m putting our 4-0 first half drubbing of Forest down as number 1 because it was so recent.

Maybe, but I don’t care. It was the most awesome performance I can ever remember, with 3 of the 4 goals contenders for goal of the season in their own right.

The game told me more than any player interview, media column inch or opposition endorsement ever could. Kightly one side, Jarvis the other, and the blissful knowledge that every time we attacked, we were going to rip them to pieces. It was a half to define our glorious season.

And that fourth goal…Oh that joyous fourth goal. Henry first won the ball in his own half, and held off the challenges of two Forest players before shaping a beautiful ball behind their full back. (after feigning to do so a moment before)

Jarvis, like a wild cheetah, sprinted onto it, leaving the hapless full back for dust.

As the spud juice begins to squirt around in my boxers, things move onto 3rd base. Jarvis shows telepathic brilliance to pull the ball back across the six yard box, with pace.

And there, bristling with mingled menace and glee is Iwelumo. Oh Chris Iwelumo. Wallop! And I’ve messed up my Levis. I honestly can’t remember football ever feeling so perfect.

I would justify the other two selections, but all of a sudden I am in need of a toilet break.

Gotta dash.

Australian cricketers, cold callers, Katie Price and queuing for ridiculously priced petrol are up there on the list.

But if there is one thing that really boils my Bovril then it’s the age old cliché that Wolves fans are fickle.

I thought I’d get this in early, as the perennial ‘Molineux Factor’ soundbite will doubtless resurface in time, just like an annoying spot that you thought you had splattered over the mirror.

It would seem that if your persuasion is a seat in the Birmingham Road End, then you’re inextricably die-hard, and part of one of the nation’s most partisan clans.

If however, you prefer to wear an Old Gold shirt on a Saturday afternoon, (or whenever Sky TV decide to point their antennas at us) then by God you’re a miserable so-and-so.

The mere mention of Andy Keogh’s name seems to stoke these particular coals, and it seems that if our flaxen friend is underachieving, then it’s time that Joe Bloggs and his 25,000 mates pulled their bloody fingers out!

It doesn’t help when every local hack has preferred to peddle the well worn club platitude about fans’ negativity for so many seasons, instead of delving deeper into our ‘wilderness years.’

And it certainly doesn’t help when the club hierarchy constantly uses that nauseous phrase known as ‘Molineux Factor’ to explain away so many dreadful performances. (Don’t know about you all, but it did make me chuckle when Villa booed their then 4th placed Premier team off v Wigan at home last season. They must have been Wolves fans in disguise eh?)

But in a radical stance rarely taken on this issue before, I am going to look at my glass as being half full in an attempt to banish a bloody irksome myth once and for all.

I would prefer to quote our much loved guv’nor Paul Ince, who said our fans are the most passionate he has ever played in front of. Yes folks, more so than those fabled Kopites and Inter fans.

Remember the quote Andrew Surman gave when he signed the other week, when he recalled a ‘goosebump moment’ when listening to us sing while losing 6-0 at home?

What about Andy Keogh’s rousing send off last season when substituted at home to Cardiff, despite another miserable showing in front of goal?

And two memories I’ll always take with me from yesteryear: A couple of spine tingling atmospheres at home to Norwich and Palace in the play-offs, despite 99 per cent of us all knowing what fate would have in store for us. Again.

Ask ex-Baggie Don Goodman who he preferred playing in front of. Ask Alex Rae as he’s being carried out of the Dog & Gun after a farewell pint.

Not sure about you all, but I would prefer to give us Dingles a bit more credit.

More to the point, I couldn’t wish for a better set of supporters to cheer us on in the top division, which has eluded us all for so many seasons.

Sure we have our moments – just like the stripy lot down the road have theirs when booing Wallwork, Carter, Moore et al – but maybe ours will stop being magnified when we show the biggest stage of all just how passionate we all are.

Go on, make yourself a cuppa…you’ve earned it!

As Mick McCarrthy once succinctly put it: “Opinions are like backsides…Everybody’s got one. So with that in mind, I wanted to start this blog by getting your thoughts on our transfer dealings so far this summer.

But maybe I should be asking this question if and when James McCarthy, Britain’s brightest young starlet, signs on the dotted line.

Marks out of 10, I would currently be considering an eight, with or without the golden nugget from Hamilton. But were we to sign the wee Irishman, then I’d be looking at a 10. No question.

In a perverse way, I’d up the score to nine even if the lad decides to play for Wigan instead – the other club to have successfully met the asking price.

And the reason for this is simply that that the attempted purchase underlines our long term thinking.

For far too long we’ve been reactive not proactive, passive not active, and far too short-term with no apparent plan or model to follow.

Some could attribute this to Sir Jack’s kind heart and deep pockets. The ‘Golden Tit’ would flow freely for a time, only to dry. The parachute payments would come, and be spent with gay abandon on the likes of Darren Anderton, Mark Kennedy contract extensions and so on.

For too long we sailed like a rudderless ship, while the likes of Wigan and Reading powered through, not to mention the even more painful examples of West Brom and Birmingham City.

So the fact we are linked with McCarthy represents something a bit more symbolic for me. It gives some more substance to our young and hungry mantra, and further validates our club custodians as Wolves people who really care deeply about the long term future of our club. It all feels right somehow.

No more links with Robert Taylor (shreek!!!), Steve Sedgley and the likes. Those days are over and unlike England cricket team’s middle order, we have learnt from past mistakes.

Viva la Revolution I say!

So fingers crossed that Big Mick snares little Mac. True I haven’t seen him play, but the national press rarely get things wrong and don’t hype up a kid for no reason. Watch this space.

But as I alluded to earlier, I am supremely happy with our dealings so far this summer with or without him. And if this squad were to start the season as it stands now, I wouldn’t be unhappy at all.

Ronald Zubar and Nenad Milijas appear to be particularly thoughtful signings, and the jewel in the crown, Kevin Doyle, still has me smiling.

Halford and Surman are both young players with great potential, and Hahnemann is the sort of seasoned, battle hardened stopper that we have been looking for.

Bobo Balde too might join the ranks, and while cynicism surrounds the big man, I wouldn’t sneer at this addition, adding strength, height and a bit of old school brawn to the squad. Seems that the lads in Australia have been impressed.

All in all, some great business and while many will still point to a lack of Premier League experienced additions, I see that as no bad thing.

I don’t remember Ipswich, Reading and Wigan having too much of that when they first got promoted. Moreover, I can’t think of any other team with such an infectious spirit, built upon so many sound footballing principles.

Well done I say.

Like a mighty oak tree succumbing to the rigours of Mother Nature, the Big Man has been felled.

No sooner had we kicked off our pre season than my hero, Big Chris Iwelumo, had broken a bone in his foot. Not the best footing to start your tour of Australia on.

It’s a shame we have lost the bear-sized brute. I honestly thought he would be a dark horse this season, giving us a welcome option at the start of the campaign. Can’t think of the likes of Micah Richards, Matthew Upson and co coming up against a proposition quite like the Scotsman.

So it’s typical that the Aussies are smashing us to bits over in Cardiff for the Ashes, while simultaneously mutilating our terrace hero on the football pitch. Another reason to hate the convict colony!

But we have strength in depth, so I am hoping he will not be missed too much. The injury brings back memories of other unlucky players…Some inducing more pain in my heart than others.

Crocks like Tony Daley, Geoff Thomas, Steve Froggatt, Dean Richards and John de Wolf really bloody hurt. Not to mention Chris Marsden, Adie Williams and Matty Murray (to name but few)

It was always one of life’s mysteries why players such as Darren Ferguson, Mark Rankine and more latterly Neill Collins never spent time on the treatment table. Sod’s law.

The good news is that we won 1-0. The old adage of not caring about the result certainly has some validity, but it is always nice to win.

The 1-0 reversal at Wrexham’s Racecourse Ground had some fans reaching for the Prozac last year before a proper ball had been kicked. And judging by our phenomenal start to the season, there was really no cause to panic.

I recall a pre-season game against Southampton back in the days of old, when le Tissier and, if memory serves, Shearer, lined up for the Saints.

We beat them 2-0 in what I remembered was one of the easiest processions ever seen at Molineux. So imagine a young boy skipping away from the family enclosure, rejoicing at what had to be an immediate promotion to the Promised Land.

My logic followed that if we beat a top flight team 2-0, who had beaten champions Liverpool the previous season, then technically we were the best team in England.

Shame we finished 13^th, or somewhere near that obscure part of the table. For the first and by no means last time, my naivety was exposed!

The best we can hope from this pre-season is that the rest of the players remain injury free and raring to go come West Ham, with some victories to breed more confidence.

Maybe even a signing or two between now and then? To quote George Michael…”Heal the Pain!”

Seeing Kevin Doyle in a Wolves shirt seems to have changed my whole outlook on life, and with a glut of signings following the Irishman, things just get better and better.

My darling Irish wife thinks my upturn in mood is exclusively down to a flourishing marriage and little Wolves dribbler.

She certainly has a point. My mojo is well and truly back, but I don’t want to burst our blissful balloon by attributing my lusty haze to another beauty from the Emerald Isle.

Sod lying back and thinking of England. I’m spread eagled on the bed thinking of ‘Super Kev’ in an Old Gold shirt. I’d like to say I have imagined him scoring 15 so far (all at the South Bank end) but it is usually all over well before then.

A real passion killer would be the sight of him getting crocked, which really would be a cold shower moment for all us fans. The thought seems to loiter in the dark recesses of my mind. Oops. I have gone all miserable again.

Back to a positive thought…What music is going to play on the Molineux PA system when Doyle hits the onion bag? Or Ronald Zubar? How about Abba’s ‘Zubar Trouper?!’ Hmm, maybe not.

The Premier additions have got me thinking about the last Wolves signings to get me so excited. I can only liken the Doyle experience to the time Graham Taylor captured John de Wolf.

The mere mention of his name still makes me smile, and some of his performances will live long in the memory (Port Vale away anyone?). Shame he got crippled and lost any pace he ever had.

I was excited at the prospect of Steve Corica bizarrely, probably because Mark McGhee said he was better than Kinkladze, or words to that effect. I think history tells us he got that one slightly wrong.

Other feel good moments were when Graham Turner was given some of Sir Jack’s money to spend. Kevin Keen, David Kelly and Geoff Thomas had me dreaming of an automatic promotion, but it didn’t work out quite that way.

Right then, off to watch the Sky Sports ‘breaking news’ ticker bar. It’s about time Richard Dunne signed!

And so, just like Max Branning’s epic dalliance with Stacy Slater last year, things are really starting to hot up at Molineux. And I’m not talking about the weather around Wolverhampton.

Being a Wolves fan has never been so exciting, so I can only liken it to the ginger chap in Eastenders, who was blissfully humping the intriguingly filthy Slater girl from Albert Square for god knows how long. (Poor Bradley)

That whole saga seemed to go on for ages before something memorable happened, rather like our close season transfer activity until this week.

Just like Max, Jez was scurrying around behind the scenes, generating increasing skepticism until the ‘doof, doof, doof, doof, doof, duh duh duh duh’ moment – Kevin Doyle unveiled in Old Gold.

And then, like our local bus service, another two sub plots arise with Andrew Surman and now Greg Halford about to sign.

My Max Branning analogy now becomes ever more tenuous, as he was ultimately miserable, where as we are all happy as Coronation Street.

Things aren’t meant to be like this, and like the searing weather conditions, I suggest we lap it all up while we can, because it won’t always be like this.

Halford was a thoroughly objectionable little oik last year, when he defiantly proclaimed that Sheffield United’s squad was ‘a million times better’ than ours after we won 3-1 in Iwelumo’s finest hour.

Better replace the sour grapes with humble pie if you sign Greg. Either that or some thicker shin pads for the training ground.

But all that aside, another encouraging signing. The more I think about it the more I like it. He is feisty, quick, tall, and boasts a throw like Rory Delap’s.

We’re like a brand of Hot Chocolate…Loads of options! If he was left footed I’d be happier, but what the heck.

Rumours around cyber space continue to link us with a well known, high profile defender, so it sounds like the deals are far from done too.

A centre half is a must, and I still have reservations about the left back slot. Will Elokobi rise to the challenge? Surely not Ward, and my favourite Matt Hill certainly isn’t everyone’s cup of cocoa.

Enough hypothesizing! Leave that to Big Mick, who is already scripting happier times for us than poor Max, Stacey Slater and THAT tub of cherry flavoured vaseline.