Bolton Wanderers FC

A variation on an old classic, but one I made up myself, though it is quite apt.

(To the tune of Dean Martin’s ‘Volaré’)

Muamba, Whoa-oh-oh-oh.

Muamba, Whoa-oh-oh-oh.

He cost five million quid.

He passes like a 4 year-old kid.

Muamba, Whoa-oh-oh-oh

Muamba, Whoa-oh-oh-oh.

There's only one way to find out....... FFFIIIIGGGGHHHHTTTTT !!!

I apologise for the piss-poor quality of the Wanderers version but it's the only one I could find...

A classic which is always resurrected when those lovable Geordies come to town. You know the ones I mean – those who make Rik Waller & Robbie Coltrane look like Beckham & Bentley. The ones who insist on coming bare chested, whatever the weather. Always makes me chuckle when the collective cry of

‘Show us yer tits’

echoes round the ground! However, whenever it’s chanted, I always have a split-second of doubt that it’s been aimed in my direction. However, I then realise that I keep my moobs covered up at all times and that the chant is indeed being aimed in the direction of the away fans. And then I chuckle.

Should Joey Barton figure at all on Sunday:

(to the tune of Dean Martin's 'That's Amore')

'We'll all laugh when the thug, takes one square in the mug,

That's Joey Barton.....'

(To the tune of the Wings classic ‘Band on the Run’)

Well the net exploded with a mighty crash, as Davo knocked in his first one.

And Megson turned to Chris Evans and said ‘at last, we’re having fun’.

Davo’s on the run, Davo’s on the ruuuuuun.

And Gavin McCann and Chris Basham, were stopping everyone

When Davo was on the run, when Davo was on the run…

Damn the bloody Bolton News! I was going to do this prime example of a Classic Match when the local rag featured it on Thursday 19th Feb. Well bollocks to them - there'll be certain similarities but my slant is as follows:

This was proper touching cloth time. West Ham were, at kick-off, 3rd bottom, 3 points behind Wanderers. This, being April, was the cliche-laden 3-pointer, never mind a 6-pointer. And we fooking-well whacked them, with no end of controversy to boot!

The final score was 1-0, with a blinding Jay-Jay goal taking the spoils. Which really rubbed salt in all the 'professional, unbaised southern-based media' bastards who previewed the match with a real bloody claret-tinged tone during the preceding week, claming that the good-old footballing tradition of the boys from Upton (the Boleyn Ground? Make your fooking minds up...) would override any far superior musical ability. But no - the real belly-laughs came with her Majsesty's contabulary confirming they would be looking at the conduct of a Mr Joseph Cole (aged 21) and a Mr Rufusy Breville (aged 83), following no end of violent brawls (some involving muscly 12 year-old ball boys...) and a number of spine-chilling on-pitch encounters...

Basically, Cole spat his dummy out and (ALLEGEDLY!!!) punched Bernard Mendy, whilst Breville was in bother following an (ALLEGED!!!) encounter with a police officer. It was all, of course, pant-wettingly funny and still prompts chants of 'we saw you crying at the Reebok' to young Master Cole.

Comedy gold indeed! And, to summarise, we stayed up. West Ham were relegated with a fairly impressive (but not-quite-impressive-enough-to-keep-them-in-the-top-flight-due-to-their-all-round-indiscipline-and-general-shitness) 40 points. Hahahahahahahaha...

(To the tune of Macarena)

Hey! Who is this big baby-eating beast?

Hey! Who enjoys a nice raw steak feast?

Hey! Who’s the player you’d like to fight the least?

Heeeeyyyyyy! Makukula!

This one hasn’t been tried yet (as I have just devised it) but it could be a festive winner if anyone cares to take the (overly-complicated) lead:

My my, at the KC, the Wanderers didn’t surrender

Oh yeah! And they had snatched the full 3 points in quite a battling way.

The history books will all say, that Jussi was on fire that daaayyyyyyyyy…

Jussiloo! You’re our defence, just don’t let them score.

Jussiloo! Promise you’ll save us for ever more.

Jussiloo! Couldn’t have scored if they wanted to.

Jussiloo! Oh it’s our fate and we worship you.

A whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Jussiloo! It’s out fate and we worship you.  

At last nights game, during a (typically) very dull passage of play, a loan voice from a few rows behind us cut through the gloom and the cold:

'For f*%ks sake, someone round here needs to get to a doctor.'

Ok, so it's not exactly a chant in the rhythmic & tuneful sense but it's the closest I'm going to get for a while. And it comes to something when one mans tirade against a particularly nasty fart provides the highlight of the evening...

Seems a perfect time to revisit this, seeing as though those Stamford Bridge chancers who were whinging their arses off on radio phone-ins just a few weeks ago now seem to be recognising that Anelka is a very tidy footballer. Sang to the tune of the Automatic’s fine ditty ‘Monster’, this was a glowing tribute to the mercurial Frenchman’s God-given talent. Go on Nic – realise it’s a bumper bag of naval-fluff down at the Bridge and return to your spiritual home. You know you want to…

‘What’s that coming over the hill, is it Anelka? Is it Anelka?’

Simple but brilliant.

(Sang to the tune of Robbie Williams’ ‘Angels’)

So when I’m trying to get a head

On a ball meant for someone else instead

And my feet they feel like lead,

I’m letting strikers leave me for dead.

And through it allllllllll, Megson offers me protection

He tries to get me sectioned

When I’m not very good

And down the M62, wherever it may take me

I know the game won’t break me

When I stumble and fall.

The Prem won’t save me

I’m Championship level instead.

It pains me to say it but the majority of the chants at The Reebok are crap (and I’m not going to recreate old staples such as ‘The Burnden Aces’ (to the tune of ‘Blaydon Races’) and ‘Hey, Kevin Nolan’ (to the piss-poor DJ Otzi tune) here as they’ve already been done to death in dozens of grounds across the country). Hence, in a bold (and, some might say, foolhardy move), I’m going to try and instigate some new chants of my own. In saying that, I’m not going to sing these (is there an easier way of making yourself look like a total wassock than trying to sing a chant on your own?), but feel free to pick them up and get them going if you think it’s worthwhile.

Every player should have his own chant and that will be the aim here. Starting with the one and only Jussi (simply because there are so many words that rhyme with Jaaskelainen…..).

(Sang to the tune of the chorus of Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’)

Ooh ooh ooh, he can’t kick, but he can diiiiiive

Having the time of his life.

Ooh ooh ooh, see that Finn

Keep a sheet that’s clean

Digging the Jussssiiiiiiiii.

(Disclaimer: Nowhere in this post did it say that these would be any good…)

Now, as I work in Wigan, this could land me in considerable trouble. However, I only mention that fine town as I first heard this chant at a Wigan v Bolton game. I suppose it could be levelled at any opposing club...

Anyway, now I've hopefully dug myself out of that particular hole, here's one of my favourite chants:

"Your Mum's your Dad

 Your Dad's your Mum

 You're inter-bred

 You're Wigan scum"

(Though obviously replace Wigan with a far worse club.....)

Formed 1874. Founder members. Three FA Cups in 20’s. Nat Lofthouse – Lion of Vienna. Super Frank Worthington – Elvis fanatic. 80’s doldrums. Colin Todd – back on track. Big Sam – miracle worker. Djorkaeff, Okocha & Campo – legends. UEFA Cup. Anelka – world class. What’s he doing here? Lack of cash – goodbye Big Sam. Thanks for the memories. Megson – same all over again? The jury’s out…