Stress and Pie...

AT PIE MANSIONS...

GAME 9: VILLA 2 FOREST 1
Welcome home, sir.

Thank you, Vetch.

I trust you enjoyed your break, sir.

Have you ever been to the Lake District, Vetch?

Alas, no, sir.

Everything's wet. Even the people are wet. They have this saying up there - if it's just stopped raining, or you suspect it's going to start raining at any moment, that's because it's not raining at present. Or something pithy like that. There's a lot of water, Vetch.

I'm sorry to hear that, sir.

No need to be sorry, Vetch - you weren't there, were you? You were down here enjoying the football, no doubt. They don't do football up there, you know. Too wet. And everything's at forty five degrees.

I regret to say, sir, that as far as I am concerned, enjoyment is in short supply at Nottingham Forest these days.

But I thought everything was on the up, Vetch? Sparkly new set up, and all that.

There have, of course, been improvements, in the sense that we are once again functioning as a reasonably proper football club.

Well that must be a relief after five years of batshittery, eh, Vetch?

It is, sir. And the new sense of optimism was reflected on the field of play, at least initially. The new passing style seemed to be working, and the results were good. But...

Don't tell me - things started to fall away.

Sadly, they did, sir.

That's what happens to things, Vetch - they fall away. What exactly is falling away at the Foresters, eh?

I'm not sure, sir, but yesterday's first half performance against the Villa was a wretched culmination of whatever's going wrong. The passing game congealed into a stew of pointless possession, the defence jittered itself to bits, and the spectacle was wholly dispiriting. The second half showed improvement, but the result - and in the end it's the result that matters - was not a surprise.

So who are you blaming, Vetch?

I really couldn't say, sir.

What do you mean, you couldn't say?

It would not be wise in the present atmosphere to apportion blame.

Good God, Vetch, why not?

There is too much at stake, sir. Too many people have invested their trust in the present regime, and will brook no criticism of it. The Creed of Stability blinds itself to even the most obvious faults.

I have trouble understanding you, Vetch. Your words are long and many.

I apologise, sir.

If the Stability Mafia are threatening your family...

No indeed sir, not at all. It's simply, well, I'm worried Forest may well struggle as badly as they did last season. Defensive issues are not being addressed, goals are drying up, but still there remains this complacent belief that everything will be all right. I'm just not that confident, that's all.

It's like growing old, isn't it, Vetch?

I beg your pardon, sir?

Following the Foresters is like growing old.

I don't understand, sir.

Of course you don't, Vetch. Let me explain. If growing old teaches you anything, it's that life is repetitively disappointing. When you grow old, you have to cope with a relentless assault on your common sense and your dignity. The NHS are suddenly desperate to find something toxic in your poo. Some baby-voiced girl rings you up to persuade you that you are lame and need a stair lift or you're deaf and need a hearing aid or blind and need laser surgery or a dog. Odd job men assume you can't mow your lawn or your roof has damaging moss on it or your walls need varnishing or your drive doesn't look expensive enough. In other words, growing old teaches you that life is not what they promised you in the brochure, but simply a cycle of disappointment.
And so it is with the Foresters, Vetch. You must be prepared for cycle after cycle of Endless Disappointment, and dismiss the bullschit of mindless optimists. Do you think you can do that, Vetch?

Er ... I could try, sir.

Because to be honest, Vetch, I've heard this story so many times that it bores the crap out of me. I didn't come back from the Wet District to listen to another whining report about the Foresters' shortcomings. It's time to change the subject, Vetch.

Of course, sir.

How is the delightful Missis Vetch these days?

She died, sir.

Really? How on earth did that happen?

Doctor Bone said her demise was due to a long accumulation of completely explicable injuries.

I see. Good man, Doctor Bone.

Indeed, sir.