Disclaimer: I’m still delirious after being in the stadium and witnessing what just happened. As a result, I thought it would be a good idea to produce a match report that draws parallels to The Lambton Worm. Is it a tenuous link? Absolutely. Will I press on regardless? Also, absolutely. Strap yourselves in…
“Whisht! Lads,, haad Yor gobs, an’ al’ll tell ye an awful story…”
The beginning to the tale of The Lambton Worm could just as easily be the anthem for our eight long years in the footballing wilderness.
Cast out of the Premier League, our club, much like the fabled worm tossed down the well (Stay with me here….) “grew and grew an awful size”, bloated by disappointment. Yesterday, though, that story finally changed, and our expectations were surpassed beyond measure. Against West Ham, we didn’t just win a football match, we slew a dragon.
For 45 minutes, the beast looked every bit as formidable as the legend claimed. The pace of the game compared to the Championship was ridiculous. It felt like the slightest of mistakes would be punished.
Jarrod Bowen (I don’t have a dragon metaphor here) looked a different class to those around him and increased in confidence as the game progressed.
When the half time whistle blew, I felt like there was a different kind of applause – an appreciation for the efforts that the squad had put in and a sense of relief that we’d got through our first 45 minutes of Premier League football unscathed.
But something happened after half time.
The players emerged slightly later than their counterparts and the referee. Why was that, you ask? The answer is simple: they must have sought the counsel of a wise woman, returning to the fray with a plan.
They came out wearing metaphorical “spiked armour.” The breakthrough came just after the hour — Mayenda, rising with heroic conviction, met a cross and sent a powerful header into the net. Sensing blood, Big Dan Ballard connected with a corner, cutting the worm in two (Stay with me!) and sending us all into pandemonium.
The final, decisive blow came in stoppage time. Wilson Isidor broke free and sealed their fate. To put it into context, no other promoted team has won their first game by more than two goals since Nottingham Forest in 1994. Just take that in for a bit…
It’s no wonder, then, that the final whistle was greeted with a roar of pure, cathartic joy.
In the legend, Sir John Lambton was warned that unless he sacrificed the first living thing he met “for nine generations ne’er a Lambton was dee in his bed”.
By slaying West Ham, we’ve averted the curse of an opening day defeat.
We need to remember, though, that the prophecy of the season remains: we’ve got a fight to avoid relegation.
It just so happens that we have a squad full of warriors who are going to do everything that they can to secure our status, keeping us where we belong.
