Bolton Wanderers FC

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…