Bolton Wanderers FC

Oh yes – it’s good to see James Corden being funny again, following a long period of relative shite (starting with the 2^nd series of Gavin & Stacey, moving on to Corden & Horne and culminating in the shite-fest that looks to be Lesbian Vampire Killers. For those of you who missed it, this Comic Relief sketch with high profile members of the England squad was very funny indeed. Good work Corden – now please concentrate on making the 3^rd series of Gavin & Stacey as good as the first. There’s a good chap.

Simply brilliant. Brian Glover – a grown man, no less –bullying a group of schoolboys. It doesn’t get any funnier.

Not the greatest of games but a fantastic result for Bolton. Perhaps a surprise to see Andy O'Brien back in the starting line-up in place of Puygrenier but he did well alongside my man-of-the-match - Gary Cahill. Cahill was excellent today and, if Fabio Capello has looked at him over recent weeks, he should take another glance now. Cahill is in excellent form and, along with Jussi, Taylor and Davo, now forms the spine of the team. Young Mark Davies also looked impressive today and as for Davo - well, it goes without saying these days. The man is immense.

Comedy value came courtesy of Butt and Taylor's little fish-slapping dance. Quality came courtesy of the move which led to Ricky netting with his first touch of the ball - an inspired substitution by Megson. This victory leaves us in 10th place on 33 points - 7 clear of the drop zone. Another couple of wins and I would say we'll be safe - given the remaining fixtures we have, this is surely achievable? On the flip-side of that, we're just 3 points behind West Ham in 7th. What a crazy season...

A good day all round though I do fear for Newcastle this season. They need some quality in defence and midfield and they have a difficult run in. Fingers crossed fellas but I can see it going down to the wire for them...

In case you didn't see it, here's Taylor and Butt's little spat:

Marvellous. Taken from the most consistently amusing show of the past 10 years. It's Chico time!

You've seen some Obafemi goals below - now let's take a cursory glance at a similar player netting some special strikes. Ladies and gentlemen - the legend that is Tony Yeboah - a guy who was worth the admission fee in his own right:

This is my main concern for tomorrow. What a player. Unpredictable but, on his day, explosive and a joy to watch. There should be more players like Obafemi Martins in the Premier League - guys who can rip the back of the bloody net off. That's what we want to see - evokes memories of the marvellous Tony Yeboah. Special stuff.

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...

Ahhhhhh – those were the days. When a little bit of the pop-idol lifestyle descended on the Reebok. I’m talking, of course, of the time when the Holdsworth twins were a fixture here. Having an impact similar to that of the Jonas Brothers, Bros, Wham, Same Difference and Journey South, the Holdsworth Twins were teen-idols extraordinaire. Mirroring Wham quite closely, Dean was always the George Michael to David’s Andrew Ridgley, but you can be certain that David got his fair amount of skirt too. David’s time at the Reebok wasn’t as lengthy as Deans but we thank our lucky stars for the good times while they lasted. Did the twins make a record together? If not, they should have. Perhaps a cover of the Hollies classic ‘He Ain’t Useless, He’s My Brother’?

Rumours abound that Frank from JLS has had to drop out of the current X-Factor live tour due to having a broken flask. And the poptastic vocal-harmony warblers have only gone and approached J Lloyd Samuel to replace him!

Well they can piss off - there's important games coming up. They can operate as a 3-piece anyway - Take That, The Spice Girls and Tight Fit all coped with the loss of a member (as did John Wayne Bobbit), so JL-bloody-S can too.

Don't do it J-Lloyd - when the super-whites shine, they shine together!

Ahead of Sunday’s game, let’s pay tribute to a legend for both BWFC & NUFC. Born in Wales in 1942, Wyn began his career with Wrexham before moving to Bolton in 1962. A good-old-fashioned target man, Wyn scored a very impressive 74 goals in 170 games during his 4 year stint with us. Such form led to a move to Newcastle, which was undoubtedly his most successful spell (in terms of honours at least). He won the Fairs (now UEFA) Cup with them in 1969, scored 53 league goals in 216 appearances and became another on the long list of famous (and much loved) Newcastle United ‘No. Nines’. The latter stages of his career saw him play for, amongst others, Man City, Man United, Blackpool, Stockport and Crewe and he also figured for the Welsh national team, scoring 6 times in 34 appearances.

Although Wyn still considers his time on Tyneside to be the peak of his career, his ties with Bolton were strong enough to see him retire here. Wyn worked at Warburtons the bakers for 13 years before retiring and, at the age of 66, can still be seen walking his dogs in Queens Park, working out in the gym and having a bet on the nags. In short, a normal bloke whose life would have turned out much differently had he been plying his trade in the modern game and earning today’s wages.

Goooooooood evening Bolton! Yes – that’s right. The recession is hitting hard so we’ve ditched our regular tip-top Friday night live bands in order to pay some areshole a quarter of the money to allow you lot up here to bloody well ruin some of the best songs of all time. What a night in store! And first up is a real triumvirate of chancers. Going by the catchy name of Broudie, Baddiel & Skinner, these likely lads are going to ruin the best football song of all-time – namely ‘3 Lions’. Thankfully they’ll be doing the far superior ’96 version (with the better video to boot), rather than the pishy ’98 version, but they’ll still probably make your ears bleed. Enjoy!

An apt time to appraise one of the Premier League's classiest acts - Shola Ameobi. The lad is pure gold. Class in a glass. The dog's doo-dahs. Here's hoping he's either injured on Sunday or, failing that, that Juventus sign him tomorrow.

Here's the man at his very best:

A legend after just a single season with the club? Yes, that sounds ridiculous but such a tag certainly applies to the wonderful Fernando Hierro. Having already become a legend on a world stage, primarily due to his time with Real Madrid (winning 5 Primera League titles and 3 Champions League finals) and the Spanish national team (played in 4 World Cups and scored 29 goals in 89 games), Hierro left Real in 2003, signing a lucrative deal to play in Qatar. Sam Allardyce secured Hierro’s signing a year later, when eyebrows were raised – Hierro was 36 at that time and the cynics believed he came to England simply for a final big payday. Those critics were left eating humble pie.

Slotting into the side as a defensive midfielder, Fernando played 29 times in the league that season, scoring once. He quickly demonstrated why Allardyce wanted him so badly. His passing range was phenomenal and he must surely have sold his soul to Satan himself in order to afford himself so much time on the ball. Composed, majestic, graceful and a joy to watch are normally descriptions afforded to the very best racehorses, though they also apply to Hierro – a true thoroughbred in a sport splitting at the seams with over-rated chancers. He even seemed to breed confidence in his team-mates, who seemed, in equal measure, inspired and awe-struck at the sheer talent of the man. Despite clamors for him to stay for a further year, Fernando played his last game for Bolton in May 2005 before returning to his homeland. Despite a relatively short stay at the Reebok, he left an indelible mark on the club and it was truly a joy to witness him in action for those 9 months.

Here’s some footage of the great man from throughout his career and, in a rather obvious link, Abba’s heart-warming tribute to a true legend.

A timely entry given Sunday’s opponents, this is the utterly marvellous Paul Whitehouse (who Harry Enfield can gladly thank for effectively keeping his entire career going) as South American wunderkind, Julio Geordio. Come on Paul – do us all a favour and bring back the Fast Show. Please….

The Scene:

Bolton, 932 AD. King Megson, son of Uther BigSamDragon, King of all Boltonians, Sovereign of all Lancashire, is recruiting a band of knights to join him in the battlegrounds of Premalot. He’s not getting very far. With lone servant Chrissy, he passes through a typically disease-ridden, mud-caked village, preceded by the Dead Collector (Phil Gartside) doing his rounds, collecting corpses at ninepence a go. A large man (from Benfica) attempts to get a not-quite-dead body taken away…

Dead Collector: (Trudging through a plague-stricken village behind a wooden cart piled high with corpses and pulled by a trio of emaciated, sackcloth-wearing wretches: he bangs a large triangle with a club)

Bring out your dead!

(Among the depraved sights in the village, we see an old crone beating a cat against the wall of her house. A couple wrestle in the mire. One old man seems to be climbing into a shopping basket in readiness for the Dead Collector).

Dead Collector: Bring out your dead! (A man dumps a corpse on the cart).

Nine-pence. (He pays up and walks away).

Bring out your dead!

Large Man (from Benfica): (Carrying an aged body over his shoulder). Here’s one.

Dead Collector: Nine-pence.

Ariza Makukula: I’m not dead.

Dead Collector: What?

Large Man (From Benfica): Nothing. There’s your nine-pence.

Body: I’m not dead.

Dead Collector: ‘Ere. He says he’s not dead.

Large Man (From Benfica): Yes he is.

Body: I’m not dead.

Dead Collector: He isn't?

Large Man (From Benfica): Well, he will be soon. He's very ill.

Body: I’m bloody-well not. I’m looking for a new club, where I can demonstrate my immense mobility, fitness and sharpness in front of goal. Does that sound like someone who’s brown-bread to you?

Dead Collector: See – you lying bastard! I’m not taking him.

Large Man (From Benfica): Come on, you lousy shithouse – have a heart! We can’t fooking give him away. He could come good for you?

Dead Collector: Ok – you’ve convinced me with your sob-story. I’ll tell you what – given your troubles, I’ll give you a few hundred thousand just to take him off your hands. Only until May though – no longer than that.

Large Man (From Benfica) – Looking away and saying slyly to the camera: Christ on a bloody bike – there really is one born every minute…

The story continues…

When not buying felt-tips to scribble shopping lists on his hands and naming his children after his favourite supermarket items (let’s look forward to the births of ‘Pork-And-Pickle-Pie-Martin-Paltrow’ and ‘Indian-Meal-For-2-Martin-Paltrow’…), Indie warbler and wannabe saviour of the planet Chris Martin is a huge, massive, dedicated BWFC fan…

Ok – that’s probably complete hogwash (I’m sure I’ve read somewhere in the past that the band are Southampton fans?) but he did have enough sense to use the wonderful Reebok Stadium to film part of the video for the excellent ‘Fix You’ a few years ago. For a short spell the Reebok did host quite a few big name concerts (Coldplay, Oasis, Elton John…). Sadly this did not last but it was good for a while. Anyway – here’s the video in all its splendour.

In the first of a new (and wholly truthful) column, we’ll be taking a look at the Bolton Wanderers alphabet, starting today, rather predictably, with the letter ‘A’.

(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…

Breaking news of an old VHS tape found in a Whitehaven attic today, featuring footage of Scott Carson in his school football team. Uncanny how his game hasn't changed much over the years...

I’ve given the regular contributors to this blog the weekend off (even though none of them contribute of a weekend anyway) due to the lack of FA Cup activity. I know a number of the players will be having a read though, so here’s some ideas for you all, should you be pondering how to fill in your time whilst other, more accomplished players, attempt to make their fans proud and get hold of some silver wear this season:

* Have a day out at the Chill Factor winter sports centre next to the Trafford Centre. Bags of fun and the ice-cold climate should get you ready for the inevitable frosty reception you’ll get from the fans at the Reebok next Saturday…

* Take in a lower league game (perhaps local under-achievers Bury’s match at Grimsby), just to remind you how lucky you actually are to be plying your trade at such a lofty level.

* Scour the rest of the wonderful Catflap website, taking in the other blogs and the content of the main site itself. There’s some fine content on there which will certainly get you chuckling, though I cannot condone the shameless violation of the beautiful young WAGs featured in the main body of the site…

* Make a pie. I’d suggest mince and onion. Very nice.

* Take up a new pursuit – you’re going to have a few Saturdays free between now and the end of the season. I’d suggest self-flagellation, to prepare you for Meggo’s post-match ‘talk’ should you again perform as badly as you did at Goodison last Saturday.

* Watch ‘The Da Vinci Code’ on DVD. It’s absolute shite but it will teach you how to self-flagellate.

* Lie on the couch and have a marathon ‘Chuckle Brothers’ session. Then repeat their catchphrase on the training ground next week, in a bid to actually string 2 passes together against West Ham next Saturday (‘to me, to you, to me, to you…’).

* It’s Friday 13^th. Watch a scary movie. Might I suggest the marvelous ‘From Dusk Till Dawn’…

I'm taking my inspiration from Baz's legendary Halloween post here, interspersed with a little bit of Frank Gallagher from Shameless. You see, Thursday night is quiz night in Horwich. And quizzes are the new cool - forget Oceans 11, Bradgelina and hip-fooking-hoppers in whistles and flutes - the quiz is where it's at. Honestly. I'm beating the talent off with a big shitty stick on my way home every Thursday. Well - not quite talent. More like the chav-infused, Rockport-wearing little feckers who chant racist bollocks at away games and try nicking my I-Pod Nano on the Thursday walk home (£30 from Tesco Direct so what the f*%k do you think you're going to get for it down the pub tomorrow night, you stupid little bastards), but you get the message.

And we'd have won tonight if we'd have known that Muscadet was (is?) a white wine, rather than red. But hey-ho - 6 pint tokens will make a head start on the Boddies next week. I'm really getting old when I think I like bitter rather than lager, but not as old as I thought I was when I correctly stated that Alex Ferguson usurped Ron Atkinson as the manager of Man U've-shited. But there you go. Photographic memory. Only 1 photo like (and that was Cheryl Cole wearing a Newcastle United shirt and very little else) but that's enough of that.

Anyway, I'm off to bed now. But I'd better put a BWFC slant on this post, or the local Catflap Ombudsman will have my goolies for ear-rings. So, Megson for president. Kevin Davies for the Nobel Peace Prize and Makukula for the last train home. John O'Kane has just left the building. Jeff Chandler was a genius. And Davo doesn't use his elbows, so shut the fook up Sir Alex - get your own disciplinary house in order (you have Wayne Rooney, remember???) before having a pop at the Sheffield legend. The only Elbow he favours is the fantastic Bury band who did the marvellous 'Grounds For Divorce'. Grounds for Divorce? Good job Ian Walker has left the club - he'd think Suzie was on the verge of walking in on him playing naked twister with a pneumatic lapdancer he'd flown over to the De Vere Whites Hotel from Vegas...

Ta-ta for now and rest assured I won't be sipping again until the Summer - I'm in training for a 10k run in May from tomorrow. That I can't manage 10 steps without collapsing now doesn't really matter - it'll help my Saturday Swap Shop objective of ditching 4 stone of blubber for a leaner, meaner Greeny by the end of the year. Good night, sleep tight and enjoy the FA Cup football this weekend. My money's on Big Scil Pholari's mob...

Can I make just one teensy weensy entry into your excellent 'WAG Of The Day' feature please, Mr Catflap? Pretty please? Ahhhhhh - go ahn. Go ahn, go ahn, go ahn?

I just can't believe you've included Jamelia in the 50-odd red-hot minxettes you've already featured but not the delectable Alesha Dixon? Go on - feel free to pinch my fine idea and stick it on your front page - she deserves it. She went out with John Carew for a while last year? She's got legs right up to her arse? And God damn - I just need the slightest of reasons to post this utterly marvellous video. I doubt many of you will even hear the song and realise that it's absolute garbage but even if you do - get over it and admire the visuals. Absolutely bloody marvellous. She wants me - she just doesn't know it yet. Mmmmmm....

(And if my darling wife happens to chance across this site, Mr Hewis and Uncle Wally collaborated, stole my ID and typed all this nonsense in...). 

The date: May 2009

The place: A plush & swanky conference room in the Westin Excelsior Hotel in Rome.

Background: BWFC manager Sam Allardyce is holding a press conference. The room is heaving,  given the huge interest in what Mr Allardyce has to say…:

Press Hack #1 (PH1): So, Sam – what do you put this current run down to?

Sam Allardyce (SA): Well it’s quite obvious really – top class management and the strongest squad of players this club has ever seen. (raises a collective titter from the journos).

PH1: Fair points but come on Sam – finishing 3^rd in the league last season was something else but did you honestly, in your wildest dreams, believe that Bolton Wanderers would be playing Barcelona in the 2009 Champions League final?

SA: Well, forgive me if this sounds facetious, but yes. Just look at the squad. Eidur and Nic have scored 38 league goals between them this season, on top of 13 in the Champions League. Jussi is still the best keeper in the universe. Tal Ben and Gazza Cahill have marshaled the back superbly. And then Matty Taylor and JJ Okocha are wheeling Youri’s chair around the middle of the park so he can get into those positions where he can cause havoc, ably assisted by Jeff Smith and Nicky Summerbee on the wings. Those players would walk into any team in Europe.

PH#2 (Patrick Collins, from the Sunday Mail): Yes Sam but let’s take just a cursory glance at the true facts here, old chap. You’re a manager of dubious talent and intent, your club is poorly supported, your team is a fantastical mismatch of geriatrics, chancers and long-ball merchants punting up to a lone front-man and you’ve, quite miraculously, bumbled your way to the greatest club match on earth?

SA: Piss off Patrick – you’ve never liked me, you puffy-faced toff. Just to quote my ultimate managerial inspiration here – Ladies & Gentlemen. Bolton will be playing four-four-f*%king-two. Good night.

Barcelona win the final 6-1. Jon Otsemobor scores Bolton’s consolation in the 90^th minute. Big Sam leaves the club for an ill-fated spell in charge of Boston United. The squad crumbles and the best players swiftly move on to fresh pastures. Rusty Lee is brought in as the new manager – a new era dawns…

Oh woe is me - enough of this guitar-based cacophony of drivel that passes for music these days. Let's return to a time when crooners were kings; when an air of cool pervaded every musical performance you heard; when scotch on the rocks was the coolest drink in town. Here's George Dawes evoking such memories with a poignant tribute to the beautiful game. Rumour has it that his last comment inspired Mike Riley to take up refereeing...

A renegade rabble of battle-hardened vets, these renegade soldiers of fortune are constantly on the run (so Dimitar Berbatov has piss all chance of joining them). They attempt to live a covert existence, despite earning a crust in front of 20,000 people each week. They are hired guns, living on the cusp of society. So if you have a problem, if no-one else can help, you need to contact…..The B-Team.

DAN-DAN-DANNNNN, DAN-DAN-DAN.

DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DANNNN. DA-DA-DA-DA-DAAANNNNNNN.

Cast:

Colonel Hannibal Megson:              Gary Megson

Faceman:                                   Dean Holdsworth

Mr T:                                         Azura Makukula

Howlin’ Mad Murdoch:                   Jason McAteer

CHM: Come on fellas – we got an urgent mission to attend to in Liverpool this weekend.

MT: I ain’t getting on no plane boss.

HMM: Just get on the plane, you darned great piece of chicken-shit you.

MT: Shut-up foooooool. I’ll rip off yo head and shit down yo neck. I ain’t getting on no plane.

F: Guys, guys, guys. Come on. I have some sweet loving to catch up on with some lovely little Scouse strumpets. Besides T – we don’t need to fly to Liverpool. It’s only an hour down the East Lancs. Now stop worrying and munch on this strange-tasting cheeseburger, as you do each week you gullible bastard.

MT: Grrrrr. I’ll eat your burger Face, but I still gonna rip that darn fool’s head clean off.

F: Hurry up then big fella – its fur burger I’m thinking of right now. We need to get to Liverpool…

(Later on that week, in Liverpool. Mr T is just waking from his slumber).

MT: Where are we? What has that darned fool done to me now?

HMM: We’re in Liverpool, you great lummoxing klutz. And I did nothing to you. Zip, widdle, pish, poo.

MT: What you talking about, dickhead? Get outta my face.

CHM: Calm down fellas. Now we’re going to build another keeper out of some washing-up bottles and corrugated iron strips and stick him next to Jussi. That’ll keep these Scouse buggers at bay.

HMM: But it’s only Everton boss – they’ve only got Jo up front. And she’s done piss all since leaving S-Club 7 and offending the entire Asian community whilst appearing on Celebrity Big Brother. Now, where’s Face?

MT: Darned fool gone making some sweet Scouse loving. He’s having a foursome with Atomic Kitten.

CGM: Fook me. That is a red card offence. I thought Murdoch was the fruitloop round here.

To be continued….

Now would seem an appropriate time to ordain Kevin Nolan as a BWFC legend. Having joined Bolton as a 14 year-old, Kevin rose through the ranks and quickly established himself as a first team regular. In November 2005, at the tender age of 23, he was awarded the team captaincy and, in total, made 345 appearances and scored 50 goals for Bolton.

In his prime he was strongly linked with international honours which, sadly, have yet to materialise. His goal scoring feats have been invaluable over the years and, despite being a Liverpudlian by birth, Kev became an honorary Boltonian during his time here and he obviously harbours strong feelings for the club, the town and the fans. The move to Newcastle came as much of a surprise to Kev as it did the fans.

He will be remembered for his energetic and whole-hearted approach to the game, for being a top bloke off the pitch and, prior to the last season or two at least, his vital goals for the club. Of those goals, rather perversely, the two stand-out efforts came in defeats for the club; a stunning volley in the 2008 defeat to Blackburn and another stunner in the 2002 defeat to Manchester United. Despite losing his goal scoring touch this season, Kevin will always be remembered as a firm favourite on the terraces who wore his Bolton shirt with pride. Here's a tearjerker of a montage to remember him by. That's a piece of dirt in my eye, before you ask. No, really - it is. I just can't get it out and it's making me weep...

It pains me to say it but this parody is fairly spot on and, for a comedy duo who are usually as funny as licking the armpits of a Russian female shot-putter after a particularly vigorous tossing session, it's fairly amusing too.

Seeing as though we’re no longer involved in any of this season’s cup competitions, here’s a look back at the golden days when the Whites were considered something of a giant killing outfit. Having dispatched Liverpool and Everton in cup competitions in the preceding 12 months, a trip to Highbury beckoned at the 4^th round stage of the FA Cup back in 1994. At that time, Arsenal were a highly successful cup team. They were the holders of the FA and League cups, were 3^rd in the Premiership and were England’s only surviving team in European competition that season.

Bruce Rioch’s talented side gave the Gunners a mighty shock though when they took the lead on 20 minutes through ‘Super’ John McGinlay. Alan Smith pulled Arsenal level on 35 minutes and, with the final score 1-1, extra-time began. George Graham’s men were clear favourites to progress at that stage, though Bolton found an extra gear and seized the game with considerable style. Jason McAteer put us 2-1 up and, 5 minutes before the end, the legend that was Andy Walker made it 3-1 and put the game to bed. On top of that, the current fan liaison officer Tony Kelly struck a beauty of a free-kick past David Seaman, only to see it ruled out. A Bolton turn-out of 4000 or so went berserk in the Clock End and looked forward to a fifth round tie against Aston Villa, though it would be many a year before the euphoria of this result would be repeated. Take a look at the line-ups below to appreciate how impressive a result this was.

Teams:

Bolton:

Davison, Brown, Seagraves, Stubbs. Phillips, Lee, Kelly, McAteer, Patterson (Walker 72), McGinlay, Coyle

Arsenal:

Seaman, Dixon, Bould, Adams, Winterburn, Parlour, Smith, Hillier (Keown 33), Merson, Wright (McGoldrick 70), Campbell.

Here's the highlights, featuring the legend that is Dave Higson on commentary duties.

Shit the bed, it’s cold back here in Blighty! It’s been cracking the flags in Oman – we’ve been cooking omelettes on the pavement, that’s how hot it’s been! Did I mention that we won the tournament? I did? Sorry folks – it’s easy done! Anyway, here’s my latest batch of musings. Keep warm and see you soon. Ali. x

- I suppose I’m going to have to get used to warming a bench again now. Bah humbug – why can’t Shiekh Yerbuti and Hellboy (Baz’s labeling – not mine) go for Jussi rather than Shay Given?

- Todd Carty? An ice dancer? HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!

Russell T - the gay Dr Who scribe? No.

Sharron - celebrity MILF swimmer and presenter with legs right up to her arse? Unfortunately, no.

Ray - absolute legend and frontman of one of the finest bands of all time? No.

No. Today we have signed 'highy rated' 20-year-old midfielder Mark Davies from Wolves for the now obligatory undisclosed fee. I'm sure Chris Evans (one of our coaching staff who was at Wolves not so long back - not the ginger haired muppet DJ) had a hand in this as he worked with Davies at the Wolves academy. The cynic in me wonders why he has been on loan at Leicester this season (though he did miss all of last season due to a knee injury, which may be a factor). However, his time with Leicester has coincided with a good run of form for the club and, whilst no Jimmy Bullard (in terms of recognition at least), this could be a promising one-to-watch. Megson, however, needs to make more signings this week to appease the fans, with a recognised attacking midfielder a must. Heres some high definition footage of the lad scoring a phenomenal header for the Foxes. Here's hoping Megson gives him a chance at some point, rather than letting him rot on the bench...

News through today that Bolton have targeted Russian striker Pavel Pogrebnyak as the answer to their current goal drought. The highly rated (?) Zenit St Petersburg forward had been linked with a loan move to the Reebok, due to his £6 million valuation being out of our reach. This is an interesting one - here's some footage of him netting against Man United (how we could have done with him last Saturday...) with some additional footage of how Megson's half-time team talks will look if he keeps up at this rate...

Dear Bolton fans,

Having not had the opportunity whilst in the wonderful Reebok Stadium, I thought I'd take this opportunity to wish you all a fond farewell. Now I know I wasn't the most popular player over recent seasons and that you didn't take me to your hearts to the same extent of the likes of Fernando Hierro, Youri Djorkaeff and John O'Kane, but I still feel there was something of a bond between us all. Your friendly forum posts (being compared to Bambi on ice was a great honour - that is one of my all-time favourite movies...) cheered me up no end and your humourous banter at the ground (I have never experienced such emotive communication as the day I was called 'a snivelling Swedish cock-muncher'...) really made me chuckle. However, all good things must come to an end and I will not see your likes ever again. I have, as one delightful fan once snarled into my face, 'f*cked off back to my homeland', and it was that comment which prompted this message. You see - things are oh so different over here, as I hope to prove within the attached presentation. I hope you like it. Take care and be careful to get all those tattoos spelt correctly when you have them done (that message is just for the ladies....). Love Christian.

Allo friends – Mark ‘fishy’ Fish ‘ere, beck again to reappraise the finest television adverts from years gone by (well, it gives mah something ta du during these long, empty days, even if you all think the column is eh pile of dog-dump (which, judging by the sacks of mail that came my way following my debut column, you all did)). Howevah, I am sutton that you will all enjoy this one – I have lent mah lesson, no mistake. This involves a slightly nerdy looking gentleman nicking lemonade in the middle of the naght – enjoy! I’m off nah to contribute to the anaarke on the streets of Sud Effrica by arming mahself wid a riffle and pistol-whipping some drug dielaas. I’ll record mah tally on a shit of peppa and report back to you in good time. Your old mucker. MF. x

Balls to Kaka. Nuts to Defoe. Arseholes to Arshavin. The biggest deal of the month has taken place today - Portugal international Ariza Makukula has signed for BWFC on a loan deal until the end of the season. Having told Tony Mowbray to piss right off a few days ago, Maku (as he will now be known) accepted Ginger Mourinho's better terms and the Portugese international signed on the dotted line. The winner of a monumental 4 caps for Spain's poorer neighbours, Maku was actually born in the Congo. Despite being employed as a clothes-line for all of his teens, the 8'9" striker was a regular goalscorer in Spain for Salamanca, Valladolid, Gimnastic and Sevilla before making a big money move to Benfica a year ago. Having fallen out of favour there, he's now chancing his arm at The Reebok. God knows what he's like, but here's some less than inspiring footage of the brick shithouse falling over against Real Madrid...

The final selection of clips for now (like John Cleese & Connie Booth with Fawlty Towers and Ricky Gervais with The Office, I hope I know when to apply the cut-off point so the whole thing doesn’t become stale and boring). But when a show was this good, it’s worth celebrating just one more time.

Surely this is a cruel joke played by the most sinister of pranksters? Brazilian magician Denilson is, apparently, having a trial at the Reebok? OK, he may have been off the radar for a little while whilst plying his trade in his home country but he’s still only 31 and, if this is true, Megson’s judgement is to be trusted and let’s just hope it comes off. It may well represent a gamble (would he be another Mario Jardel (God forbid…) or another Fernando Hierro (yes please…)?) but, after recently bemoaning a lack of real quality, skill and invention in our midfield, this would be a very welcome gamble. Come on Megson – thousands of BWFC fans wait with baited breath. Please let this one materialise. Here’s some footage of the man himself from his time with Real Betis when, let us not forget, he was the most expensive player in world football, having moved in 1998 from Sao Paulo for a whopping £21.5 million:

Whoah –we’re thin on the ground tonight folks. Must be a combination of the credit crunch, the traditional January ‘skint as a bastard’ period and people on detox drinking green tea rather than Bank Top Flat Cap. As a result, any karaoke request will be granted tonight. So next up is a perma-tanned crooner named El Tel. It appears El Tel has appeared on TV back in the 70's so let’s relive that moment now with some soul-stirring vocals. This fella is destined for big things, so please don’t throw any chips, darts or broken bottles at him…

To celebrate Hartlepool landing Premiership opposition in the form of West Ham in the next round of the FA Cup, here's one just for Jeff Stelling and the like. A fine video of the Hartlepool version of the Riverdance...

Hi folks – Gavin here! Nothing funny in this post – just a selection of fine performances from Jools’ excellent shows from over the years.

A big thank-you goes out to Catflap’s resident music maestro Northy for the inspiration behind this entry. His musical picks are always entertaining and, whilst not wishing to nick his fine idea on a regular basis, I’m hoping that he won’t mind me posting a few favourites of my own.

Merrrry Christmas! It’s good to see that Greeny is respectful of tradition and respect and, as the longest serving player at the club (and you can piss off Ricky –I’m the top dog here), its right that I should have the final say in this tedious list of our favourite Christmas ditties. And there’s no arguing on this one – this is, without a shadow of a doubt, the finest Christmas song of all time. I like the fact that it’s a sobering antidote to the saccharine soaked cheese of all the 70’s classics (whilst still being an excellent sing-along-a-tune). I like the fact that Shane McGowan would make Greeny look like a Mens Health cover model. I like the fact that this song is now a poignant reminder of the wonderful talents of the much-missed Kirsty McColl. It is, quite simply, an absolute classic. I wanted to post the video here 5 times over, just so you wouldn’t miss it, but Greeny will only allow one showing. So enjoy and make sure you watch it at least 5 times today. Have a delightful Yule and thanks for your wonderful support over the past decade or so. It kept me here at the Reebok, not that I ever thought about leaving…honest! Your loyal friend. Jussi. x

Hello, my festive chums! Ali here and, firstly, please let me apologise for the column being a day late this week – Mrs Al-Habsi has had me out Christmas shopping so I’ve been rather busy. And what a week it’s been! So, without further ado, here’s my musings for the past few days. Peace, love and a reet boozy & proper Crimbo to all of you. Your very dear friend, Father Habsi-mas. xxx

- The economic crisis currently engulfing this country in a dark and sinister manner really isn’t very nice.

- Tamir Cohen obviously doesn’t watch much on TV other than comedy programmes.

- Having said that, the Harry Gary CaHill DVD is bloody hilarious.

- Tom Chambers? TOM CHAMBERS? He shouldn’t even have been in the final. It’s a bloody disgrace.

- Watching the music channels has convinced me that Bo Selecta’s Proper Crimbo is the finest festive tune ever. I can’t believe none of my team-mates have selected it so I’m showing the video here:

- Having seen Ruth from the X-Factor at the Royal Premiere of the new Dolph Lundgren movie Snails on a Plane this week (and yes, before you ask, I do get invited to such high-profile events), I’d like to know if she’s selling those puppies? If so, I’ll have the one with the pink nose. But don’t tell Mrs Al-Habsi….she’s got a canine allergy…

Heeeeey you guyyyyyys! Ian ‘Marshy’ Marshall here with my favourite Christmas ditty. Thanks to Mr Green for allowing me to contribute – I’ve had to take time out from the pantomime rehearsals to pen this (I’m playing Shrek in the festive production at the Isle of Skye Amphitheatre this year – get yourself up here if you can – it’ll be great!) but it’s an enormous pleasure to contribute. My favourite Christmas ditty is actually one of my favourite songs outright. It got me through some difficult childhood times, which is why I hold it so dear. As a young slip of a lad, the kids at school used to call me Franky (as in Frankenstein). This demonstrated the ignorance of the thick bastards as, if they were being technically correct, they should have called me Frankenstein’s monster, as Frankenstein was the name of the mad doctor, played so convincingly in the 1931 original by the wonderful Colin Clive.

Anway, this name calling grew particularly bad in winter when, as in the film, I had to trudge through the snow (to get to school) in a similarly ambling, shuffling and generally monster-like manner to the lumbering Boris Karloff in the aforementioned Universal Studios classic. After a while though, the name calling resided and I actually grew to love the snowy climate. On those dark, cold, mornings, I would sing this uplifting tune as I ambled up that snowy path, avoiding the angry mob of kids and their fiery beacons. It still resonates with me to this day and I’m proud to share such a lovely song with you all here. So have a delightful Christmas, tell your little ‘uns not to burst into tears if they see me in the street and have a prosperous 2009. Best wishes. IM. x

Har-sole! Akinori here and I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be approached by Mister Green to contribute to his marverrous column. I have many recordings on my Sky+ box and am absolutely delight to share them with you all. So here they are – I hope you find them velly inspiring and interesting! Lots of love. Akinori.

Heroes

Of course, to appreciate the velly fine talent of my fellow Japanese fella Hiro, and his good and loyal friend Frank. Leaping across the time and space continuum is very big in Japan now, mostly as result of this show.

Jonathan Ross Does Japan

Or whatever the title was. Hidden away on BBC9, this showed Mr Ross as the serious and talent presenter he capable of being, when not making jokey abaaaaaawt knobs, farts and making rude with relation of famous persons. A luvverry snapshot of Japanese culture.

The Last Samurai

My favourite film, with Mr Tom of Cruise and Timothy Spall, who play Barry in Auf Wiedersehen Pet. A wart and all account of a velly important time in Japanese history.

Showdown In Little Tokyo

My second favourite film, with Mr Dolph of Lundgren and the velly much missed Mr Brandon of Lee. A balls to the floor action movie, full of set-piece and fight. I must warn though – there is a little glimpse of breasticle at one stage. Best not to watch with kiddies or Grandmothers!

Shampoo: Live From The Foot of Mount Fujirama

My favourite concert ever! Great British pop band Shampoo are legend in Japan too, having sold mirrions of record! Akinori at this show and couldn’t contain excitement – I actually pee-pee in trousers! Crowd were wild, Shampoo were velly good – what a day! Sadly, no footage remain from this show (ed: probably because it’s completely fictitious…), but here is clip of aforementioned pop superstars from your top show ‘Top of the Pop’. Altogether now:

‘Ro, Ro, We in trouble. Somethin’ come arong and burst our bubble’.

Balls to that lot – I know its Christmas and that’s all I’m arsed about…

Only joshing! Youri here, attempting to spread the true meaning of Christmas, as dictated by Sir Bob of Geldof. What a worthy man, what a worthy cause, what a worthy tune. Strip away the commercialism and the rabid self-indulgence displayed by most of the civilised world at this time of year and this is what you’re left with – the true meaning of Christmas. Caring for your fellow men (and women, children, domestic pets, sheep and goats) across the globe. Ensuring we live in a world where no-one has to suffer. Ensuring that you parcel up all your left over sprouts, spuds and turkey twizzlers come Boxing Day and send them off to someone who will consider our leftovers to be a meal fit for a king (and, let’s face it, it doesn’t cost much to send a small parcel to Wales now-a-days…) (thanks go to Ann Robinson for that little gem…). And nowhere is that sentiment better epitomised than in the greatest Christmas song ever – Do They Know Its Christmas?

I’ve opted for the Band Aid 20 version here as I think it’s the best of the 3, putting, as it does, a contemporary slant on a 24 year old classic. Take out the Dizee ‘gobshite’ Rascal rap and you have a bona fide classic for the noughties. So here’s the video. Enjoy and remember the real message when you’re playing your Nintendo Wii with one hand and drinking cans of Tenants Super Strength with the other. Take care. Youri. x

Hello my old friends. Gudni here, typing this from the frozen wasteland of Iceland, prior to heading back to England to see you all once again. I’ve chosen this song (the Bon Jovi interpretation, rather than the more maudlin Eagles version) as it’s something I know many of you sing to me at this time of year. I do consider Bolton to be my second home now, so I can understand what this song means to you all. Plus we all like a bit of rock in Iceland, so I had to go for a Christmas tune with a nice bit of guitar playing in it, though it does piss me off when radio stations and video music channels cut off Richie Sambora’s tasteful guitar outro. Stop it, you shits, and play the full fooking song - I can't even find a full-length version of the bloody video.

Anyway, here’s the video in all its splendour. I have to say, as a proud father, I was hesitant to post a video showing Jon Bon cavorting all over the place with the world-renowned pug-ugly munter Cindy Crawford (complete in skimpy denim-shorts – urrggghhh) but, having checked it with Greeny, he’s reluctantly given it the go-ahead (so as not to upset the loyal blog readers (i.e. Hewis & Walton) or some such gubbins), so here it is. Enjoy, peace be with you and see you all soon. Your loyal chum, Gudni. x

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the tower, Beardo’s glistening?

He’ll give you a fright, if you pass tonight; walking in a Beardsley wonderland.

Gone away, are the wee bairns

Shit themselves, and so did their friends.

They saw the hunchback, their pants filled with cack; walking in a Beardsley wonderland.

In the Reebok Todd will sign a legend, then tell him to sit out every match.

He’ll say Mr Todd are you a dickhead? As all the other kiddies sit and watch.

Later on, he’ll transpire, to escape, by the fire (escape)

He’ll refuse to play, the Colin Todd way,

Walking in a Beardsley wonderland.

Walking in a Beardsley wonderland.

Wallllkking, in a Beeearrrdsley wonderlannnnnddddd.

Martin Riggs (Gretar Steinsson) is a cop on the edge. Mourning the death of his beloved wife, he is standing at the very edge of the precipice. His monumental personal loss has contributed to the creation of a maverick (some would say damn-near suicidal) police officer, with scant regard for police protocol and procedure, to the extent that his colleagues universally refuse to be partnered with him. Working alone, and showing even greater psychotic tendencies due to the impending festive celebrations around him, Riggs is infiltrating a gang of very naughty men in a dodgy roadside development, masquerading as a Christmas Tree salesground. Riggs is sampling some of their less-than-legal fares, laid out on a dodgy table amongst the Norwegian Spruces:

(Riggs) Ok, so let's do it. How much?

(Naughty Villain) How much for how much?

(Riggs) For all of it.

(Naughty Villain No.1, to Naughty Villains Nos.2 & 3) You want it all? HE WANTS IT ALL ! Alllllrrrright! COngratulations!

(Riggs) Maybe a nice 6 footer to put it under, eh?

You want a tree? I'l tell you what - I'l give you the best tree I got for nothing. But the shit’s gonna cost you, ermm…100.

(Riggs) What? That much?

(Naughty Villain) Hey - you said you liked it. That's a fair price for a box full of Bolton Wanderers half-season tickets.

(Riggs) Yeah. Yeah – hell, you only live once. Let's get this together here. 

(Riggs reaches into his pocket, pulls out a huge wad of bundled notes and starts counting)

(Riggs) Ten…Twenty…Thirty…

(The naughty villains look at each other incredulously…)

(Riggs) Forty…Fifty…Sixty

(Naughty villain) Hey man.

(Riggs) Shut up man, I'm losing count.

(Naughty villain No.1) Forget it, you dumb shit. 100 pounds. Just 100 pounds.

(Riggs) 100 pounds straight? For 500 BWFC half-season tickets?

(Naughty villain No.1) Yeah. We can’t shift them anymore – who on earth do you think wants to buy this shit for any more than that?

(Riggs throws his police badge onto the table) Well look – I got a better idea. Let me say I take the whole stash off your hands for free and you assholes can go to jail.

(Villain No.1) Somebody shoot this prick…

Oh I do. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do. Don’t you? Don’t you too? Just imagine if it was Christmas every day? You’d get presents every day of your life? Quite how you’d buy them for others is a mystery as the shops would never be open, but never mind that. Perhaps Roy Wood envisaged opening his very own Christmas Day shop and creating the ultimate monopoly on Christmas gift retailing. Perhaps his was a fiendish plan to use Christmas as a means to become super rich. But he’d have been bolloxed, as no-one would be working if every day was Christmas Day, so no-one would have the money to spend on presents. Unless he was relying on nurses, policemen, firemen and members of the emergency services, to fund his megalomaniac ideas? Or perhaps I’m being a cynic, and dear old Woody simply loved Christmas, just like me.

Just think of the other benefits too. You’d eat a Christmas meal every day (assuming the local garage sold all the ingredients, as none of the supermarkets would be open). Christmas songs would play on VH1 all year round. The Snowman would be on TV every day of the year. You could have an afternoon siesta every day of the year. And Mingles would become a key element of the staple British diet! Jesus – it’s a no-brainer – it really should be Christmas every day. Enjoy the greatest Christmas song ever below (and I know Gretar picked it earlier in the month but Greeny can chuff off – I’m having it too…), taken from a special TV appearance at some point over the past 30 years (what a pension it’s turned out to be for old Woody). I’m off to lobby my local Festive Ombudsman – power to the people, we want Christmas every day! I’ll keep you posted on how I go on. Your excited bosom buddy, MT. x

Franck here with my lovely lovely song selection of Good King Wenceslas. I love songs which sound different to how they look (and Simba knows there are plenty of them in Bolton) and the allure of the word ‘Wenceslas’ gets me every time. Me and Mrs Passi have spent many an hour in front of the fire, drinking fine wine and debating the wondrous nature of the word ‘Wenceslas’. Plus another of my favourite pastimes is looking out on the Feast of Stephen. There’s so much going on at that time and, coincidentally enough, I always tend to buy my winter fuuuu-uuuuu-elll from a man on that date too. The hours simply fly by.

Anyway, time to go, otherwise you’ll be begging me to tell you interesting stories all night long. Besides, Mrs Passi is due her annual festive service. Good night and good luck and here’s hoping Santa brings you everything your heart desires. Your much-missed buddy. Franck. xxx

Hellllllooooo! JJ here stating, with much pride, that my favourite Christmas ditty is the marvellous Elton John hit ‘Step Into Christmas’. I don’t like to boast but JJ Jr likes to sing ‘Step Over Christmas’, in honour of his father’s trademark special-move and the mercurial skills which saw him light up the Reebok Stadium on many an occasion. They’re not my words by the way – my boy came up with them! I wouldn’t be so modest…

Elton and I are similar in many ways, now I come to think about it. He often plays concerts wearing a Nigeria replica shirt, we both spend a ridiculous amount of money each month on flowers and, like Elton, I do enjoy close ball control whilst nipping round the back of burly sportsmen and sliding one into the box. For those reasons alone, this is my very favourite Christmas tune. Enjoy, have a great Christmas and never forget the joyous times we shared. All my love always. J.J.

You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry

Ricky Gardner’s just hit a shot t’ward the sky

Santa Claus is coming to town.

And hopefully he’ll be fetching me some shooting boots! But hey – that’s just a cheeky little version of mah favourite Christmas song. Santa did come to Harbour Bay, Jamaica when I was a slip of a kid, wearing his fur lined red velour shorts and t-shirt, and dishing the gifts out Caribbean style to all us excited little kids. Not like here in Bolton, where Santa now wears a thermal vest, t-shirt, 2^nd t-shirt, sweater, body-warmer, parka and big furry suit. But every time it’s getting close to Christmas, I think of those lazy Jamaican Christmases. And when I think of lazy Jamaican Christmases I think of the top ditty ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. My favourite version is by Chaka Demus and Pliers, though, strangely enough, that isn’t on You Tube, so you’ll have to make do with the Boss' version instead. Take care and have a lovely, laid-back Christmas. RG. xxx

Haaaalllloooooo! Colin ‘Christmassy’ Hendry here with news of my favourite Christmas ditty. And what a tune it is too. Probably the most famous of all the Christmas songs, Jingle Bells is known across the 4 corners of the globe, and rightly so. I do prefer our version of it up here north of the border (Jingle Bells Whisky? Yes please, I’ll have a double to go with my cornflakes), though that gets more of an airing around Hogmanay, plus there’s very little video footage of it on that bumper bag of shite site ‘Yey Tube’. So here’s a clip of the regular version for you, played by mah favourite rockabilly revivalist, Brian Setzer. I’m off for a nip or two of the good stuff. Have a grand Christmas, an even better New Year and a boozy and prosperous 2009. Take care. C.H.

Hey, hey, hey! Calllllllmmmmm daaarrrrnnnn! Club captain and genial Scouse midfield man Kevin Nolan ‘ere, with news of my favourite Christmas ditty.

And now I’ve made an entrance with that stereotypical Scouse opening, I can resume normal service and speak using the finest Queen’s English. I was most delighted to be invited to contribute here by Mick, as I assumed (quite correctly, it would transpire) that none of my colleagues would select my favourite Christmas jingle. As something of a traditionalist, I really do savour the sentiment portrayed by Sir Cliff Richard’s Christmas songs. He really does delve a little deeper than the superficial imagery regularly proffered at this time of year, to bring the true meaning of Christmas to the forefront. And never has he done this more effectively than in the wonderful, awe-inspiring and inspirational lament, ‘Mistletoe & Wine’. The lyrics are profound. The melody caresses the earlobes. The imagery of Cliff swaying from side-to-side in the video is a touch of genius. How can anyone fail to be intoxicated by this most festive of tunes? Savour the moment in the video below. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and for the support you’ve offered this season – it really is appreciated. I’m off to a training session now, so it’s time to adopt the cheeky Scouse persona once more – the lads would crucify me if they knew how I really spoke. It’s tough being an intelligent footballer nowadays – just ask Graeme Le Saux.

Until next time. God speed. Kevin Nolan. x

Harro! Akinori Nishizawa here! Harro! It is good to see you. Harro!

Mah favourite Crissmas sawng is the ruvvery Mel & Kim with Woking Awound The Crissmas Tree. I love it long time! It bring back memory of mah time with Bohton, which was much fun – like Crissmas party all year long! Wooooo-hooooo! Happy, smiling faces all the time – make Akinori very happy man! I miss you all velly much but am remembering the ruvvery times every time I hear this song. Enjoy, have a raw like sushi Christmas and have a velly, velly happy time. Sweet kisses of joy. Akinori. xxx

I sorry - I not speak English too well? But my nice Christmas carol is South Park. You knows – South Park? Cartoony people with singing poop? Make me laugh long. But Christmassy also. Good fun when Arnar clean toilet in local McDonalds. Miss England – wish back in Leicester. Start to cry now – must go. Bye-bye.

Hey-oop! Kevin Davies ‘ere, talkin’ abart my favourite Christmas tune. Nah then, as a Yorkshire lad born and bred, we don’t stand for any o’ that funny modern nonsense o’er in my neck o the woods. Just good old traditional songs. And that’s why my favourite Christmas tune is When The Red Red Robin (Comes Bob Bob Bobbin’ Along). This has got me int’ a few scrapes wi knuckle-draggers who said I’m showing an allegiance t’Man United with this choice. Well let me put you straight now – I’m not having it. You’re talking bollocks. It’s all down t’quality o tune, and this is a reet little belter. I’ll be belting it owt at t’Whites Christmas party this year, as per, and it’ll go down a storm, as per. ‘Ere it is in all it’s glory, should you wish t’do same. Enjoy, don’t eat t’many Mingles and see you all on’t 28^th for t’local derby again Wigan – it’ll be a reet ding-dong-do.

Love & hugs.

KD.

I like this ditty as Rudolph got me through some difficult times earlier in life. When I thought I had no-one to turn to, when life was at its lowest ebb, he showed me that it was actually a beautiful blessing to have a huge, monstrous, steaming great schnoz. The cock-nose jibes, the Pinocchio taunts, the vast queues of ski-jumpers wanting to use my hooter as a practice run – they didn’t bother me any more. Rudolph was my hero. When I felt that hope was gone, he gave me strength to carry on. I looked inside and I was strong, with the strength to carry on. And I finally saw the truth, that the hero laid in me…..ermmmm, and you. So enjoy this festive favourite and break out the Kleenex – there won’t be a dry eye in the house. I’ll be on next years ‘Pride of Britain’ awards at this rate…

Your proud mate, A.O’B (That’s Andy O’Brien by the way, not Any Other Business…).

Howay man! Cheeky Geordie chappy Peter Beardsley here, full of festive cheer! Now I nahs that my time with Bolton wasn’t shrouded in glory like, but that was Colin ‘tosspot’ Todd’s fault, not mine kidda. So it pleases me nah end when canny Bolton fans like Mick invite me back to contribute to first-class, awe-inspiring, world-changing ideas such as this……

Only kidding there! This is a reet shoddy idea, put together ahlmost as cheaply as those bag-of-toss Christmas presents he’s putting oot for the bairns like. But never mind – I’m here now, and he is slipping me a fiver, so I’ll have my say.

My favourite Christmas ditty is a recent one, but I love it so much ‘cos it harks back to the days of classic Christmas tunes. It is, of course, The Darkness and their magical hit ‘Christmas Time (Don’t Let The Bells End)’. Now I nahs that any mention of bells is ganna get the Quasimodo gags going aboot again but I’m not bothered – I’m over that now. I nah I’ve got a bit of a hunchback like but hey – it could be worse. That’s where the comparison starts and ends. I divna live in Notre Dame. I divna live in the top of a bell tower. I divna love a lass called Esmerelda. And I’m not f*%k ugly. So it really doesn’t bother me – do your worse. But before that, take a few minutes to appreciate this belta of a song. Ahl the best hinny. Wor Peter.

Run Run David, your pace is there for all to see.

Run Run David, you look just like Jeanette Krankie.

Ah yes – during my halcyon days with the classic early-mid 90’s BWFC side, I used to imagine the fans singing this little festive ditty to me every December. That they never did wasn’t really a concern – I still imagined they would, and that was almost as heart-warming as actually hearing 20,000 people chant my name in perfect harmony. They mustn’t have been able to see me at the back – that’s the only reason I can think of. Anyway, hearing this song still takes me back to those lovely dreams of old. God bless rock & roll Christmas songs. In a perfect world all festive ditties would be based around 12-bar blues progressions, complete with blazing guitar solos, instead of all this saccharine-sweet dogshit that’s bandied about so often. So listen to a phenomenal guitarist named Philip Sayce rock the shit out of this song, spank your own plank (the 6-stringed variety of course) throughout December and have a great rock & roll Christmas! Your very own little festive elf, David ‘diddy’ Lee.

This might have been sung by Mud but there are sprinklings of gold-dust amongst this festive classic. It’s a tear-jerker, make no mistake, and always reminds me of the plight of the lesser spotted Finnish puffin. Not only does this fine bird have to put up with survival in the harshest of conditions, it now has to dodge serial slaughter-merchant and furrow-browed haggis-guzzler Gordon Ramsey coming over and cutting up it’s kind in the name of entertainment. The heaving great bastard. No wonder numbers are dwindling, especially at this time of year, when adult puffins are much sought after for food and fuel for fat-burning lamps. There will be a lot of orphaned puffins who will be lonely this Christmas and there’s no Samaritan helpline for those poor little mites. So this Christmas Day, when you’re stuffing your fat, flabby faces full of shite and listening to Noddy Holder’s Christmas fooking Countdown on VH1, remember that somewhere, there’s a puffin without a mummy and a daddy. A puffin with a broken heart. A puffin not looking forward to being lonely this Christmas. Just remember that when Mud come on the TV, you insensitive, thoughtless shits. And then see the light and come and join me and Mrs Jasskelainen in a tree-hugging festive frenzy up Rivington, before dancing naked around the hills under the light of a festive moon whilst listening to the dulcet tones of Steve Brookstein. You know it makes sense. 

Why do Oi class this as moi favourite Christmas ditty? Well, it's narthin to do with the song - it's all about Mariah. Listen hoire - Oi'm a young fella, with a young fella's hormones. She's a pneumatic bint with moighty fine fun cushions and she looks filthy. What more do you need me to say? I bet she'd love the craic with Joey's jingle bells. And the song isn't bad oither! Here's the video - I'm off upstairs to unload the love custard from the porridge pistol before moi mammy comes home and catches me. Merry Christmas!

Allo boyos! Gary Speed ‘ere. I’d like to start by thanking Micky G for allowing me to drift off into a winter wonderland for a few moments. I agonised for days over what to select as my favourite Christmas tune but in the end there was only ever one real contender – the sublimely talented Shakin’ Stevens (real name: Steven Wenceslas St Nicholas Stevens, trivia fans) with the classic ditty ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’. There must be something in the water in the valleys as, like my good self, Shakey looks at least 15 years younger than he actually is. Though my age may swiftly catch up with me if I continue earning a crust in the deepest darkest caverns of Yorkshire… But let’s not get too downhearted. Pull up a chair, untie the sheep and let them run free for a few hours, delve into a leek pie and drift away to a winter-world of innocence with the greatest male vocalist of all time – Shakin’ Steven Wenceslas St Nicholas Stevens. Love you and missing all you wonderful Wanderers every minute of the day. Speedo. xxx

Come, they told me, pah-rup-a-pum-pum

You’re going out on loan to Buuurrrr-ming-ham.

That’s how Megson broke the news to me. This used to be my favourite Christmas song too, but now I’m not so sure. The song spookily mirrors my career actually. As with Bing Crosby on this tune, I was the established fan-favourite, a right-back par-excellence, enjoying fame, adulation and as many free Greggs sausage and bean melts as I could scoff. Then, as with David Bowie on this tune, a new kid in town appeared from out of nowhere and stole the limelight. In my case, this was Gretar bloody Steinsson. All of a sudden I was left out in the cold, just like the little drummer boy. I had to fight to regain my pride, just like the little drummer boy. I had to sit on my arse every Saturday afternoon playing on my Nintendo DS, just like the little drummer boy. God damn – I WAS THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY.

But I’m not bitter. Oh no, not Nicky Hunt. I won’t let it get to me. Nicky Hunt just wouldn’t allow that to happen. I’m a fighter. I’m a battler. I get knocked down, but I get up again – you ain’t ever gonna keep me down. I wanna see the sunshine after the rain. I want to see bluebirds flying over the mountain again. I will regain my place in the team, you mark my words. I will come back harder, faster and stronger. Just like Daft Punk and just like the little drummer boy. Here is my inspiration, in all it’s festive, rhythmic glory. Enjoy and peace on earth to you all this Christmas time. Except for Gretar bloody Steinsson that is.

Gudbye tuh Jane! Gudbye tuh Jane!

Not one of their festive tunes, I know, but I love a bit of Slade. I once grew some Noddy Holder style jibs but they chafed my cheeks a little, so I had to shave them off. Besides, they would have made me, one of the greatest full-backs in Premier League history, a little less aerodynamic, and we can’t have that, can we? But for me, the Slade Christmas ditty perfectly evokes what every family Christmas should be about – hanging stockings on the wall, every Santa (and I know loads) having a ball, Granny knowing all the old songs are the best (cobblers to this X-Factor balls – where are the proper Christmas tunes now-a-days?) while she’s up and rock and rolling with the best, and drinking shed-loads of Advocaat on Christmas afternoon and puking up all over the dog. Wonderful memories! 

Anyway, let’s have a listen to Noddy, Bucktooth plank-spanker Dave Hill and the rest of the boys in this wonderful ditty. Enjoy and remember on Christmas morn – if someone comes down your chimmy, it’ll be Santa, Noddy or Jimmy! Tata for now peeps. Hugs & kisses. Jimmy P.

Away in a manger, no goals from my boots.

Nor my head either, I just can’t seem to shoot.

That’s the alternative terrace version of my favourite ever Christmas tune. It’s not big, it’s not funny and it certainly isn’t clever. So pack it in, OK? And don’t go adding this to your bloody never-ending set of Christmas posts, fatboy, or I’ll be round to open up a king-sized can of whoopass before you can say ‘pass the onion bhajis please mother’. Got that, jackass? Now shut the hell up and listen to this proper version. The thought of the ickle baby Jesus laying down his sweet head has a great calming effect on me, especially when fat-knacker internet bloggers are having a pop at my shooting prowess…

Tschuss! Gretar here and I can’t begin to tell you how pleased I am that Mick has asked me to take part in this little poll. My favourite Christmas song is a festive tinged ode to the plight of the beautiful whales that are being violated off the coasts of Japan; Sting’s eco-friendly Yuletide classic ‘The whales won’t have any festive cheer, as they’ve all been slaughtered throughout this year’….

Hahaha - only joking! Did I have you there?! Us Icelanders are funny, especially during this, our favourite time of year! My favourite song is actually Wizzard’s classic festive anthem ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’. Primarily as I really do wish it could be Christmas every day (you can never have enough Beano annuals and bottles of Denim aftershave, after all), but also because Roy Wood perfectly captured the very essence of Icelandic fashion in the video to this ditty. All Icelanders wear Christmas Day outfits very similar to Roy’s, even now, in these times of heightened fashion-sense. I will be wearing one for the BWFC Christmas bash this year and let me tell you – if I were a single man, I’d fancy my chances with any of the young Bolton debutantes who will be there (even the ones with big fat corned-beef legs, drinking blue WKD’s and stealing all the sausage rolls from the buffet)!

But enough of that – let’s stop this chat and take in the greatest Christmas song of all time. Ladies, gentlemen, kids & household pets – enjoy the genius of Roy Wood and Wizzard (and, letting you into a secret here, listening to this song often gives me wood, it’s that good).

Oh, the dulcet tones of English warbler Jona Lewie bring back memories for me. The subject matter of this slightly left-of-centre Christmas song takes me back to my days in ‘Nam. The hours wading through those paddy fields were long and tough, though Christmas was the one time of respite in those cold, hard times. Jonah summed up my feelings beautifully, as my wife was indeed waiting at home in the nuclear fallout zone, she had been waiting 3 years long and, given half a chance, I would have stopped the cavalry (probably by using Mike Ashley as a human shield before blowing Johnny Foreigner out of the water in a Rambo-esque manner). As things stood, I made it home safe and sound and drew on those dark days (especially the strategies employed by the generals – I favoured seizing the moment, getting one over on our adversaries and defending the lead until the battle was over) as I gradually became one of the most successful managers in the game.  Anyway, grab a box of Kleenex (the sentiment here always brings a tear to my eye) and savour Jona’s finest hit (and God knows he had many of them).

And we’re not talking about the legend that is Ivan Campo here either. It’s a relatively quiet night here in the Mary Hinge Arms tonight (must be down to people saving up for the festive season) but we’re lucky enough to have a top club act in who’s toured all the working mens clubs, from Bridlington to Barrow and all points in between. He reckons he’s sired a relatively famous son who can also warble a bit, but we’ve never had Enrique Shufflebottom on in here so he could be pulling our chuffs a little. And the guy must be a bit of a chancer when he tells us he used to play in goal for Real Madrid – yeah, right! Anyway, he’s got a favourite song so we’ll give him one shot and, if he gets to the end without being doused in hotpot, spittle and piss, we’ll let him do a few more numbers. So, ladies and gentlemen, here’s a tune to get you all in the mood for some sweet northern loving. It is my pleasure to present to you tonight, singing his favourite song ‘Begin The Linguine’, Julian Igrassyarse.

Balls. I had this prepared a week or so ago and then the CatFlap homepage pays reference to it. Well sod it – I’m posting this anyway! This was one of those comedy moments that obviously weren’t intended to be hilarious but just turned out that way. Picture the scene: The opening ceremony of the 1994 World Cup Finals in America. In keeping with the good old American way, the pomp and bombast was augmented by a performance by soul superstar Diana Ross. The legendary Miss Ross bounded about the place with a tireless enthusiasm which belied her advancing years, obviously buoyed by the watching global audience of billions. Warbling her way through a medley of hits, the Supremes legend shimmies her way across the pitch toward a waiting ball and goal, with the intention obviously being that Ms Ross hammers the ball home and the crowd goes wild. The goals were the size of a small African country, leading to a perfect finale. Miss Ross shimmies, she sidesteps and then this happens (fast forward to the 2 minute mark if you're not a fan of her back catalogue)…

Scene 1: Fathers Ebi Crilly (Ebi Smolarek), Dougal McGuire (Jason McAteer) and Jack Twatty (Gerry Taggart) are sitting in the front room of their Craggy Island house. Ebi is pacing up and down by the window, Jack is asleep in his threadbare chair and Dougal is playing with an etch-a-sketch.

FD: Ebi, I’ve finally done it. I’ve drawn a picture of Spongebob Squarepants.

FE: Shut-up Dougal, you clueless turd. I’m nervous enough today without having to listen to your constant stream of drivel.

Just as Dougal is about to reply, Mrs Doyle (Mario Jardel) enters the room, shaking like a leaf, carrying a tray of tea, pork pies, chocolate, chips (with gravy and scraps), kebabs, crisp, cakes and ghee.

MD: Will yah be having a nice cup of tea Fathers, and some nice fatty junk food? Will yahs? Ahhhh go awn, go awn, go awn, go awn.

FE: I’d love some Mrs Doyle but you’ve already eaten them all, you fat knacker. Besides, I’m too worried to drink. I have to work out how I’m going to kick Bishop Megson up the arse as a result of losing that bet. He’s coming round soon to critique my sermon.

FD: Ohhhhhh, dat’ll be brilllllliant Eb. Seeing you kick Bishop Megson up the ahrse. I can’t wait.

At that moment Bishop Megson storms into the room. A squat man, he wears a permanent look of anger on his increasingly reddening face.

BM: Eb. That sermon is a steaming pile of arse, and I haven’t even read it yet. You’re not getting anywhere near the frontline with performances like that.

FE: Ahhhhh, bollocks to this. Take that you little ginger bastard……

Father Eb proceeds to kick Bishop Megson up the arse, rupturing his sphincter in the process. The Bishop is out of action for 6 months, so Chris Evans takes on his Bishopy duties. He underperforms, attendances plummet, the congregation grows restless and Ebi never preaches for the parish again. He is ferried off to a foreign diocese in the January transfer window. Father Dougal continues to be thick, Father Jack continues to be pissed, Mrs Doyle continues to eat all the fatty food and Bishop Megson struggles passing stools for the remainder of the year. The end.

Hello mateys. Your favourite-ever Bolton centre-half Mark Fish here. Since my playing career came to an end I’ve eked out my days as part-time film critic for The Daily Sport (in the award-winning ‘Fish’s Flicks’ column) and generally lazing around while the missus does a decent days graft down the pit to put some food on the table and shoes on the kids.

Anyhow, with all this spare time on my hands I’ve been able to indulge in my favourite passion – classic television adverts. I remember the classic adverts of old when, as a slip of a lad in South Africa, I used to hide in the cellar, flick the portable on and marvel over the delights of the Cadburys Caramel bunny (damn, she was hot….) whilst singing along to the Special AKA’s marvelous ode to binge-drinking and casual sex, ‘Free Nelson Mandela’.

I did, however, have initial doubts about this column. After all, us ex-Bolton players have all taken a look at Prick Green’s daily spewings of shite on here and recognised it to be a bumper bag of arse biscuits. However, I was amazed to see just how many ex and current players he has on board and, as a result of this, I found the offer impossible to refuse.  

Anyway, onto my first post. My first classic advert to be appreciated will not be, as the title might suggest, Um Bongo (I’ll save that for a later date). It will be another fruit based drink in a carton – the marvelous Moonshine. Now I don’t know who came up with the idea of naming a kids drink after the product of illegal brewing practices by American rednecks but I do like their train of thought. That the drink itself tasted of fermented hippo piss didn’t matter – the advert was a masterpiece. Featuring the law-dodging escapades of contrabanding brothers Sammy the Stoat and his brother Irvine, it was a non-stop thrill ride which left you breathless whilst singing along to the brilliant bluegrass soundtrack. Enjoy it in its glory here:

Thank the Lord for Roy Keane. A few years back I hated the bloke as a player (even though he was admittedly one of the best around) and, with having an affinity to Newcastle United due to my North East roots and having a NUFC mad fatha, I always wanted Alan Shearer to knock his block off when they had one of their many spats. However, I find his typically forthright and direct manner as a manager quite refreshing and it makes a pleasant change to see a manager have a pop at a worthy target rather than start a petty squabble with a fellow boss.

Apparently he’s caused some concern amongst the top-brass up at the Stadium of Shite with his scathing comments last week regarding Sky pundits and commentators. For what it’s worth, I think he’s fairly spot on. Whilst it’s in Sky’s best interests to provide almost blanket coverage of English football and breaking news, some of their so-called ‘experts’ are piss poor.  Namely Andy Gray, who is far too smug and self-aggrandising for his own good, and Paul Merson, who is an illiterate joke and would struggle to convey an accurate and clear report on my 2-year old daughter putting her coat on. In addition, Trevor Francis (do they still use him?) is quite simply an arse, likewise Ruud Gullit.

But, and I must stick up for Sky here, they do have some diamonds in their ranks (and these outnumber the duffers listed above). Jeff Stelling is quite simply a legend. Jamie Redknapp is proving to be a very competent analyst and must be in the frame for taking over from Andy Gray. Chris Kamara is comedy gold and I do like the no-nonsense input from both Alan McAnally and Le Tiss. Christ – I’m even warming to Phil Thompson’s slightly witty style of analysis and I never thought I’d see the day I’d say that…

Good on you Roy for having the balls to speak out. Plus a topic prompted by you provides an ideal opportunity to revisit this gem of a clip.

Stuff and bollocks. I might as well pack my bags now following Saturday’s wonder-display from the Flying Finn. I’ve about as much chance of getting into the first team as Gavin McCann has of hitting Christmas No.1 with his new single; a drum-and-bass cover of the Cliff Richard classic ‘Saviour’s Day’. Anyway, here are my musings from the past week or so. Hugs and grumps to you all. Your old mate Ali.

- I have a huge bruise on my big toe from kicking the wall following Jussi’s wonder-save from Marlon King on Saturday.

- Laura White the worst act in the X-Factor this week? Absolute hogwash. The show is a fix and a joke. And if I ever see Louis Walsh in the flesh I am going to drown the sniveling little git in a pool of his own snot.

- The 1.5% reduction in interest rates doesn’t make much difference when you’re living out of a suitcase in the DeVere Whites Hotel. Though they do make a lovely cheesy-chip barm at three in the morning, should you get the early-morning munchies.

- The negative press surrounding Katherine Jenkins has to stop. She could come and piss on my kids for all I care - I’d still give her a fiver to fart in my hand. That’s how lovely she is.

- I couldn’t give a toss about the American presidential race. I’m more concerned about whether or not I’ll be able to continue to get my hands on Paul Newman’s lovely salad dressings now that the great man has gone. I’m not holding my breath though as he did make every single bottle of sauce with his own bare hands.

- It’s just another manic Monday. I wish it were Sunday. Cause that’s my fun day. When I don’t have to run day. It’s just another manic Monday.

- If a picture paints a thousand words, why can’t Paul Merson string a sentence together? That’s how thick he is – pictures are cleverer than that clueless, inept wazzock.

With Jussi having made his 400^th appearance for Bolton in the 2-0 victory over Man City last Sunday, this seems an appropriate time to pay tribute to the Finnish shot-stopper extraordinaire. Originally signed by Colin Todd for a paltry £100,000 back in 1997, Jussi has gone on to become one of the Premiership’s finest keepers. Wisened experts (whoever they may be) claim that a top class keeper is worth some 10-12 points over the course of a season and that is certainly the case with Jussi. A phenomenal shot-stopper, he has proved invaluable to the Trotters over the years and, at a relatively young 33 years of age and having signed a new 4-year contract just last summer, should continue to do so for a good few years to come.

That Jussi has stayed with Bolton for so long is something of a minor-miracle. He has consistently been linked with moves away from The Reebok (this has seemed a near-certainty on a number of occasions) but, to his credit, he is still here and would appear to be here for life now. He and his family are settled in the town (all 3 of his sons were born in Bolton), which certainly helps.

Having become only the 19^th Bolton player to reach the 400 appearance mark for the club, it remains to be seen if Jussi can break Eddie Hopkinson’s record of 578 appearances in all competitions. That is a tall order but, should Jussi see out his contract and remain as the first choice keeper (which appears likely at this moment in time), it may just be possible. That would be a fitting tribute to a player who has served the club so well over the past 11 years. Here's a clip of Jussi's best moments, accompanied by a fine Fall Out Boy track...

Something of a rarity this (in cinema terms at least) in that someone actually managed to make a genuinely football movie about football. This is a real laugh-out-loud movie filled with many great scenes. The casting was perfect, with Ricky Tomlinson obviously stealing the show as the eponymous title character, though able back-up was provided by Bradley Walsh (as the Phil Neal-esque ‘yes-man’ assistant manager), Amanda Redman & Phil Jupitus. I felt the subsequent TV series was poor and didn’t capture the magic of the film, though that doesn’t detract from the simple fact that this film is always worthy of repeat-viewing.

Though there are a number of brilliant scenes to choose from, here's the very best: Bassett’s expletive-ridden half-time team-talk.

Howdy quizzers! Your old mucker Jamie here, with some more quiz related shenanigans. Now I must apologise for not having posted much lately but I’ve been slogging it away with a load of lesser-boffins on BBC2’s new prime-time show (if you consider late afternoon to be prime-time which, let’s face it, everyone does) Are You An Egghead? After fleecing everyone, I was the victim of a vile conspiracy theory. Basically, they didn’t want an ex-footballer on their team so they stitched me up good and proper in the final round with a question on Bolivian cheese processing techniques. Hence I got it wrong, hence the new Egghead is a guy from Bradford called Tommy Tickleknackers who won an episode of the Krypton Factor back in 1981. He correctly answered the question ‘What is the capital city of England?’ to take his place on the quiz. Conniving set of bastards that they are.

Anyway, enough bitterness for one day. Here’s another selection of tip-top, cream-of-the-crop quiz answers which I’ve been collecting over the years. Enjoy, laugh and remember – there’s no glory, dignity or respect in winning a pub-quiz when there’s 11 people on your team (unlike the mighty Wanderers yesterday)…

Bamber Gascoigne: What was Gandhi's first name?
Contestant: Goosey?

Presenter: What happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963?
Contestant: I don't know, I wasn't watching it then.

What surname do actors Beau and Jeff share with their father Lloyd?

Derek…

And here is a clip of my absolute favourite. This guy deserves a Knighthood in my opinion…

It’s close to midnight. A something evil’s lurking in the dark.

Under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart.

You try to scream, but terror takes the sound before you make it.

You start to freeze, as horror looks you right between the eyes. You’re paralysed.

Cause this is Gregorrrrz, Raziak.

And no-one’s gonna save you from the useless pile of cack.

You know it’s Gregorrrrz, Raziak.

He’s coming back to haunt you, he’s a useless, feckless, tosssssseeerrrrr. It’s Raziak.

You hear the post groan, and realise he’s spooned another shot.

You hear the crowd moan, and wonder why we ever signed this clot.

You close your eyes, and hope that this is just imagination.

But all the while, you regret those foolish words you ever spoke, this is no fooking joke.

Cause this is Gregorrrrz, Raziak.

And no-one’s gonna save you from the useless pile of cack.

You know it’s Gregorrrrz, Raziak.

He’s coming back to haunt you, he’s a useless, feckless, tosssssseeerrrrr. It’s Raziak.

Darkness falls across the land, Raziak couldn’t trap a bag of sand.

This international striker crawls in search of blood, to prove to all he’s not a dud .

And who-so-ever shall be found, kicking balls straight out the ground.

Must stand and face the hounds of hell, and rot away at the likes of Motherwell.

The foulest stench is in the air, this Polish stump just couldn’t care.

And grizzly fans from every seat, are up in arms at getting beat.

And though you fight to stay awake, your eyes shut and go all a quiver

For no mere Wanderer can stay awake, through another 0-0 thriller…

The rivalry between McGinlay and Wolves fans was the stuff of legend, up there with such timeless feuds such as Holmes & Moriaty, Bond & Blofeld, Potter & Voldermort and Katona & Jordan. The games between Bolton and Wolves tended to be spicy affairs in the mid-late 90’s anyway and McGinlay swiftly became the Wolves fans’ pantomime villain of choice, presumably as he scored regularly against them and seemed to revel in winding them up as a result of this.

The defining moment in all of this was certainly during the play-off semi-final at Burnden Park in 1995. A typically heated affair, Super John scored twice here and followed that up with another double in a quite nasty game at Molineux during the 96-97 season. Then later in that season came the piece-de-resistance – a goal in a 3-0 Bolton victory dubbed ‘The Battle of Burnden’. The game was played with a real air of maliciousness about it, with both sets of players seemingly letting the off-field rivalry spill over onto the pitch. A mass confrontation led to both clubs receiving an FA charge for failure to control their players and simply stoked the ill-feeling even further. However, McGinlay continued to enjoy his role as tormentor-in-chief during this period and still invokes hatred amongst Wolves fans to this day.

A separate post will follow in time to pay tribute to the legend that is John McGinlay (it would be a grave injustice to suggest that sticking it up the Wolves is all he did during his wonderful time with the Trotters) but, in the meantime, here's some footage for you to relive those magic moments.

Quite simply because he’s the best mascot in British football. Fred The Red? Moonchester (or whatever his name is)? Get out of town – Lofty is the main man.

First, he’s a lion. What could be better as a mascot than such a proud and majestic beast as the lion? Secondly, his bodybuilding routine is class in a glass - simply first class. Thirdly, he has attitude in spades. Sadly this seems to have been sucked out of him over recent times (as a result of the piss-poor performances on the field or due to some inane FA ruling preventing mascots from actually having a personality? We will never know…). So I’m harking back to the good old Burnden Park days here, with one of the funniest episodes I’ve ever seen at a football ground.

Back in the day, Lofty used to do his bodybuilding routine in front of each stand, culminating in a display in front of the away fans. Back then there was a considerable rivalry between Bolton and Wolves fans (thanks, in no small part, to John McGinlay, though we’ll take a closer look at that in a separate post some time). So Lofty knew all about this and really milked his performance at half-time during the infamous 'Battle of Burnden' back in January 1997, working the Bolton crowd a treat at the same time. All this hatred built up and the Wolves fans stormed to the front of the stand! Thankfully the fencing was enough to keep them and Lofty apart (though I’m in no doubt he’d have snotted the lot of them…) but the site of 100 or so grown men spitting and snarling in their hate-filled desperation to get at an oversized cuddly toy (probably with a woman inside) was absolutely hilarious.

Here’s some footage of the legend that is the Lion King in action:

It was an international break and boyhood buddies Helguson & Steinsson found themselves at a loose end, due to Icelanders being too busy buggering about bailing their banks out of the shit to concentrate on football matters. Being keen hikers, their thoughts turned to a short break, taking in challenging terrains of rugged mountainside, craggy peaks and worried sheep. Unfortunately Blackburn was closed during the winter season so they ambled their way over to the North Yorkshire moors.

Happening upon a quaint little village, they sought refuge from the rain in a local hostelry named ‘The Disemboweled Lancastrian’. A deathly silence enveloped the inn at the very instant they entered. This was no surprise as the inn was full of Leeds fans, tenderly applying lipstick to their whippets whilst caressing a soothing pint of milk stout and playing cheese skittles at the bar. The scene, should you not be able to picture it, was not too dissimilar to this:

Undeterred by their less than enamored welcome, Heidur and Gretar proceeded to the bar and ordered a couple of pints of warm puffin blood with a splash of lime. Glancing round nonchalantly, Heidur noticed a single silver bullet pinned to the wall, where the dog-fighting pen used to stand.

‘Exchuse me my fine fellowsh’, he said firmly. ‘What ish that bullet schtuck to the wall for?’

His question drew hushes of breath from the assembled throng and one squat little fellow, standing 5’2” tall and 4’8” wide and blessed with a face resembling a bulldog licking piss off a thistle, hastily shoved his ferret back down his trousers and squared up to our intrepid duo.

“That’s nay business uh nosy foreign folk such as yourselves. I’d suggest supping tha pint and pissing off quick flower, before things get artta hand here.’

A slight sag formed in the seat of Heidur’s pants and he stood up to leave, wisely deciding to leave his barely touched pint behind. But Gretar was more cocksure, and shouted as he quickly fled through the door…

 ‘Schtick your drinks und your bullets up your arshes, you in-bred Yorkshire wassocks.’

As a result of this childish fannying about they didn’t hear the solemn advice ringing out behind them:

‘Stick to the roads, don’t go on the moors…..’

It didn’t take long for the 2 chums to flee the village and they soon found themselves consumed by a bleak fog, limiting vision to a mere arms length. They were walking swiftly as Heidur berated his gobby colleague for costing them their chances of somewhere to stay on that cold, eerie Yorkshire evening.  However, their words were soon lost as their feet stomped on squelchier ground than before.

‘Grets’, said Heidur, a worried tone in his voice, ‘where are we heading’.

‘Soonderland’, uttered Gretar, confidently. ‘They have gloves with schix fingers on them up there – an extra part for ush to schtore our Kendal Mintcake in.’

‘This doesn’t look like Soonderland to me. I’m worried Grets.’

Then they heard it – a sound so terrifying it chilled their very bones. A high-pitched howl emanating from the mist.

‘Megshon ish giving a team-talk again?’ cried a now horrified Heidur?

‘No, no, no my friend – itsch nothing’ said an ever-confident Gretar, standing a few feet away with his arms outstretched, as if to prove a point. Then it happened in an instant. From the bowels of the mist, a creature so utterly feral and savage pounced upon the Icelander, ripping him apart with ferocious ease. The sound of flaying limbs and ripping flesh completely drowned out the screams of Heidur, who was rooted to the spot with fear. He had seen (and read about) this creature before, whilst collecting his Panini ‘92 sticker album as a young boy. This was a creature not of this earth. A beast so fierce, upon the very second he was born he caused the midwife to shit a brick. This was the horrifying and spine chilling beastie known in these parts as……Brian Kilcline.

And, at that fatal point, Heidur knew he and his long-standing chum were fooked.

Time to lighten the mood a little with some of my favourite clips from the finest soccer show of all time. God knows I need cheering up at the moment....

I’ve already pilfered the Soccer AM archives for some video footage but it’s time to pay tribute to the show in a post of its own. And I make no bones about referring to the show of 2-3 years ago here, not the current incarnation. Not that I’m having a go at the show in it’s different guises over the past 15 months; it’s just that the elements that made the show essential viewing are no longer there (though the lovely Hells Bells still holds things together brilliantly and is just about the only person in the country who could convince me to become a veggie, if she employed persuasive techniques of a rather filthy nature…).  

But no – I’m referring to the days of Chamberlain, Lovejoy, Sheephead, Fenners, Rocket and the rest of the ‘classic’ line-up. Everything about the show was brilliant in those days; the guests were top notch, the comedy skits were excellent, the innovative and irreverent ideas were perfect television for those hang-over hazed Saturday mornings. The comic creations were masterpieces, particularly Stan Hibbert, Barry Proudfoot and Yorkshire News. Regulars such as Third Eye, The Showboat, The Road to Wembley, Soccerettes, Crossbar Challenge, Fans of the Week, the wrestlers chanting ‘Easy’ and many others became nationally recognised and galvanised a nation of sky-owning football fans. The show really was essential viewing. That it’s glory days have moved on with Lovejoy and the rest is no surprise – it was nigh on impossible to fill the shoes of those team members who moved on in the summer of 2007 – so all we can do it remember the good old days with misty-eyed fondness. I’d even place this above Fantasy Football as the greatest (irreverent) football show of all time (though there’s little between the two). Here are some classic clips to remind us of the greatness of this show.

Reports are emerging today that Ricardo Vaz Te has issued something of an ultimatum to Ginger Mourhino – ‘Play me or let me go’. Seemingly he is only referring to a loan deal here, though I’ll bet with one eye on the future. I personally think Vaz Te’s BWFC days are numbered. Having been with the club some 5-6 years now, Vaz Te has never been more than a bit-part player, despite coming to the club with a reputation as one of Europe’s finest young talents. He didn’t figure prominently under Allardyce, who did actually seem to like the look of him, whilst he’s figured even less under Megson. His chances look even bleaker now with Elmander, Davies, Smolarek, Riga and Helguson ahead of him in the pecking order.

Surely a loan deal to a Championship side is a win-win deal for all parties, with Barnsley and Watford both reportedly interested? Such a deal would give Vaz Te vital match experience, it would give these clubs a striker with potential and Premiership experience and, from Vaz Te’s perspective, a decent run notching up some goals will do no harm to his prospects of getting a move away from The Reebok. He’s 22 now and, at that age, it’s understandable he wants to plays more often. Whilst at times infuriating (he used to have an uncanny knack of falling flat on his arse at inopportune moments, often due to diving, unfortunately…), Vaz Te hasn’t done anything particularly wrong at Bolton; it’s just that his time to shine never really materialised. So here’s hoping he gets the loan move he needs, bangs a few goals in and secures a move to a club where he’ll get regular football.

Now, if only we could palm Helguson off onto some poor, unsuspecting club….

This is what Vaz Te can be capable of...

 ‘Memories, all alone in the moonlight’ sang everyone’s favourite midget musical-murderer Elaine Paige and by God, does this match evoke some serious memories. The hours leading up to the game saw my bottom carrying out some serious underpant-chewing as this was a real relegation battle. Bolton hadn’t had the best of seasons and were dangling perilously close to the bottom three at such a crucial time in the campaign, as were Ipswich. Form was indifferent, nerves were frayed and you could sense the angst the moment you entered the stadium. Loan signing Fredi Bobic had produced some good performances without hitting the net as often as you’d hope from a renowned German striker. Goals weren’t exactly free-flowing from the rest of the team and a dour, nervous match was expected. Imagine the joy then when Herr Bobic hit a first half hat-trick (the opener coming after just 90 seconds) and Bolton went on to become convincing 4-1 winners, taking them 6 points clear of the drop zone and effectively confirming their place in the top flight for another season whilst condemning Ipswich to the second tier. Bobic should have been given the freedom of Bolton. Instead he returned to Germany, regained his place in the national team and had to be content with cementing his place in BWFC folklore instead. Fairytale stuff indeed.

The cult of the celebrity fan really seems to have taken off during the Premiership era. Half the fun in this slightly bizarre world is separating the genuine fans from the schmoozing glory hunters trying to pin their colours to a big team for some selfish, vanity-seeking reason. For every Frank Skinner and Sean Bean there’s a dozen Angus Deaytons (Man Utd), Ant & Decs (Newcastle) and Michael Jacksons (Fulham).

Bolton seems to have been fairly well represented in this area of late but the question begs to be asked – just how big a fan is Amir Khan? The same goes for Vernon Kay, Paddy McGuiness and Sheephead from Soccer AM (of old)? How often did they go to Burnden and the Reebok before they hit the big time? This is a genuine question as I honestly don’t know. If they went regularly I’ll applaud them. If they didn’t, I’ll call them a bunch of bandwagon leaping swines. I haven’t seen the other Bolton ‘celebs’ (such as Peter Kay, Danny from McFly, Sara Cox, Badly Drawn Boy, Cherry Ghost (fine band/singer – get hold of some of his stuff) and Dave Spikey pin their colours to the mast too often (to their credit too), so I’ll refrain from questioning their credentials.

However, our newest minor celeb (Laura from this year’s X-Factor - go on girl, you can do it) can gladly turn up at the Reebok on a regular basis, especially if she brings along the Spanish lass with the enormous...lungs. She could lead a sing-along in the stands any time she likes…

For info purposes (in case my lovely wife or dear old Mum happen to chance across this page), I can promise here and now that this is the last time I’ll use this football blog as an excuse to show a YouTube video of a woman with norks like beach balls. It wasn’t my idea – I’m simply bowing to peer pressure from Eric and Wally…

Again, not in the Biblical sense, but whilst I'm in a loving mood (and I have to be after another piss-poor game today) here's one hell of a player. On my info details I cheekily noted Salma Hayek as my fantasy signing. A little bit of mischief there but, to be honest, it should have been Rooney's name there.

We were having this debate in the pub a few weeks ago ('Who would be your fantasy signing?') and, as I've said in the past, it would be Rooney. Now I took a bit of stick then and, whilst I don't want to appear as a smug git, he's proving why at the moment. Truly world class, a great finisher, unbelievable work-rate and unbelievable passion. The only player who comes close to him as far as I'm concerned is Ricardo Vaz T..... sorry, Lionel Messi. Thank God he's English, thank God he's here in the North West and thank God he doesn't look like Brad Pitt - who gives a shit what footballers look like as long as they do the business on the pitch? Plus, if he played for Bolton it would stop his unbelievable scoring record against us. Here's his hat-trick against us in a 4-0 drubbing back in 2006 - although it was painful at the time, it was one of the finest all-round individual performances I've ever seen.

Just stumbled across this today - has anyone used it? Is it genuine? If so, God bless them for livening up betting tips and long may it continue. And let's just thank the Lord that John McCrirrick doesn't go on air like this....

PS: Her tips are far better than mine...

Apologies tonight folks but we’ve been inundated with slips from a karaoke saboteur. I mean, who in their right mind would ask for ‘Don’t go down the pit Dad, you’ve got enough slack in your pants’ and ‘She was only the fishmonger’s daughter but she lay on the slab and said “fillet”’. Apologies to the dick who asked for those but we don’t have them.

However, what we do have is a fine young fellow from Tyneside with a velvety voice that would grace the very choirs of Heaven. The celestial beauty of his warbling will astound you to a degree you would hitherto have believed possible. That he is a bit of a fruitcake simply adds to his mystique and magic. That he has a big fat bastard mate trying to do beat box in the background should not put you off. This is a real treat for all you music connoisseurs out there tonight. So, without further ado, I am delighted; I am humbled; I am positively pissing my pants to present to you Paul ‘Gazza’ Gascoigne and his heart-wrenching version of that old Geordie lament, Fog on the Tyne. Enjoy...

Oh for the glory days of Soccer AM once again. There'll be more on that in a future post but I'd like to revel in one of my favourite characters from the show - Big Stan Hibbert. Ok, the gags were rarely football based, but Stan was a legend from a time when the show was essential viewing (that I haven't watched a single show all the way through since Lovejoy, Fenners & Sheephead left tells it's own story). Enjoy one of Stan's 'finest' here and remember to all join in:

Centraaaaafuuuuuuugal force......

As time passes it is becoming more and more obvious that the early-mid noughties really were heady times for BWFC. And, perhaps along with JJ Okocha, no player better sums up that period than Youri Djorkaeff. Signed from Kaiserslautern in 2002, Youri was perhaps the first of the ‘wow’ signings made by Sam Allardyce during his time in charge. However, in typical fashion, the British press chose to focus on the fact that Youri had fallen out with his coach at the German club and left under a cloud, intimating that he would be a problematic player (a theme that the press would seize for years to come with far too many BWFC signings).

But Allardyce didn’t earn his reputation for shrewd signings for nothing. Youri slotted into the team beautifully and, in addition to his mecurial skills, brought much needed experience and composure to the table. Youri, for my money, was a Gianfranco Zola type of player – blessed with exquisite technique and poise which cannot be learned. Players of this type are simply born gifted. Given a relatively free role somewhere between midfield and attack (though it could be argued that Youri played either of those roles outright), he was a phenomenal success at the club. His very presence brought out the best in his team-mates and he also acted as a catalyst for other big names to join the club (such as Okocha and Campo). He had an inert ability to find time and space for himself, was a sublime passer of the ball and could also finish quite neatly too. Quite simply, the guy was a joy to watch. Even more surprising was that Youri seemed to enjoy his time in Lancashire, seemingly revelling in being a key component in a relatively successful time for a ‘club like Bolton’. Some Youri skills are shown in the clip below and should be savoured by all fans of the beautiful game, not just Reebok regulars. Youri – if you ever stumble across this thanks for the good times. They will always be remembered.

Hello and welcome to our first column here on FatClap. Mucho thankios to lovely Mr Green (wasn’t he one of the Reservoir Dogs?) for allowing us to share our culinary delights with you all. I’m Big Cook Lardel and I’m assisted by my buddy Little Cook Lee. Unfortunately I do all the ‘talking’ here as we don’t know how to translate Sammy’s little squeaks into actual words, but never mind. We’ve cooked together since we were little children, fighting just to survive in the favelas of Rio. And, inspired by BBC’s big, sweaty-arsed, hairy bikers, we’re launching our own column designed to teach you the very best in comfort cooking. I first discovered comfort eating a few months before I joined BWFC and quite a few of those friendly Lancashire folk noted this very quickly. Their chants of ‘who ate all the pies’ and ‘get a spurt on you fat bastard’  really filled my heart with joy and convinced me that cooking was the way forward. So it gives me and Sammy great pleasure to present our first recipe for you all – Lardel & Lee’s Legendary Lunchbox Lardfest.

Ingredients:

½ block of lard

2 buckets of ghee

½ lb of brown sugar

1 lb butter

8 pints of full fat milk.

3 pints of double cream.

8 blocks of Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut (the bumper 1kg bars they bring out at Christmas)

12 bags of McCoys steak crisps

Directions:

Get a big pot. Warm 1 litre of olive oil. Throw all the ingredients in. Bring to the boil and simmer for 1 hour. Nip to chippy & buy a bucket of chips. Sit on the couch and dip your chips into the mixture. All night long.

Marvellous! At this time of year, for a festive feel, chuck a couple of Terrys Chocolate Oranges into the mix too. Delightful!

Until next time, your loyal friends Mario & Rusty.

Many thanks to Ellie Green (aged 2) for inspiring this column due to her current addiction to C-Beebies…

Not in a biblical sense, you understand, but our new Icelandic full-back is already making a decent bid to become a BWFC legend.

Firstly, he is an honest and committed player. Physically imposing, he won’t shirk a tackle and, in stark contrast to some foreigners in this league, he won’t fling himself to the floor every time someone sneezes within 10 feet of him.

Secondly, he’s a crowd pleaser. He seems to have an understanding of what it’s like to be a real fan. He gees the crowd up. He seems one of us (more to follow on this).

Thirdly, he lives in Bolton. He has publicly stated that he feels it’s important to live in the town/city of the club where he’s based (he also did this with Alkmaar) in order to get a feel for the fans, their views and what it’s like to be a part of ‘their club’. This is a refreshing approach and one which will certainly endear him to those fans even more.

Finally, he looks a very tidy footballer. His defensive qualities looked a little hit and miss at first, though that side of his game seems to be improving with each passing week. However, his attacking play is a major (and unexpected) bonus. He loves marauding up the wing and can deliver pinpoint crosses with ease. Jeez, witness the clip below which shows that he’s as much of a hotshot as anyone else in the team at the moment (and he did mean this as a shot, ok? That’s without doubt…..).

Good on you Gretar and may you continue to cement your place as a Bolton legend.

Yo, people. Jamie Pollock here. You may remember me as a marvellous midfield marauder for Bolton in the 90’s and rightly so – I was good. Damned good in fact. And here's the evidence:

 However, what you might not know is since my playing career ended so abruptly whilst playing for Barcelona in the early noughties, I’ve forged a very successful career from TV quiz shows and pub quiz machines, to the extent that I now have a mansion in Bel-Air and a beach-front hut in Bridlington in addition to my Kensington bachelor pad. My astonishing wealth of knowledge has seen me get to the final of one of the celebrity editions of The Weakest Link (narrowly losing out to Dean Gaffney), win £2000 for charity on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (partnered with Rusty Lee) and, in breaking news, I’ve recently been approached to replace Daphne on Eggheads.

But enough of this self-aggrandising. My real reason for being here (and I’m eternally grateful to the really rather lovely Mr Green for this marvellous opportunity), is to share with you some of the classic cock-up answers I’ve witnessed during my extensive quiz career. Honestly – if these don’t make you piss you must be an Eastenders fan. Enjoy this first in the series and remember my mantra at all times: If you can’t find the answer, you’re a great useless chancer…

Q: Who was the voice of Bob the Builder?

A: Jim Morrison

Q: What 'X' is the fear of foreigners or strangers?

A: The X-Factor.

Q: What ‘Mr Man’ is depicted as blue and covered in bandages?

A: Mr Accident

Q: ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ starts “It was the best of times, it was…” what?

A: Summer

Q: Which Indian leader, whose last name began with ‘G’, took the name Mahatma?

A: Geronimo

NB: It has to be stated here and now that Jamie Pollock hasn’t actually had anything to do with this column. Honestly….

Classic stuff. Absolutely top-notch. Not intended as a comedy, An Impossible Job was first aired some 14 years ago and was a documentary for Channel 4's Cutting Edge, following the then England manager as he prepared to take his team through the World Cup qualifiers and onto the 1994 finals in America. Of course, that all went tits up and the documentary proved to be a work of comedy gold, following the increasingly beleagured manager as he lost the plot and gifted some scenarios that you just couldn't have scripted. A clip is below though this excellent programme is being repeated tonight at 23.00 on ITV4. If you miss this, they're repeating it on Tuesday (7th) at 21.00. Don't miss it.

Seeing Super Matt's mighty fine goal today had me thinking of a wonder goal he scored for Pompey. The wonders of YouTube confirmed this was against Everton and is shown below. What a beauty and nice to see he's starting to hit the target for the Super Whites. Long may it continue.

What a pleasure it is to include the legend that is Ivan Campo in a compilation of great goals, a category usually dominated by hot-shot centre-forwards and attacking midfielders. This, the opening game of the 06/07 season, was expected to be a stern test against a highly regarded Spurs team who had invested heavily over the summer months on the likes of Berbatov. As it turned out, Bolton strolled to a 2-0 victory and Senór Campo hit this 40-yard screamer past a despairing Paul Robinson. Marvellous stuff!

Yes, yes, I know it's not really football based comedy. I was searching, to no avail, for some clips of the big man's legendary Soccer AM appearance. So this was the only sport related clip I could find. But, and let's be honest here, when footage is as pant-wettingly funny as this, who gives a toss. Just sit back and revel in the sheer hilarity and madness of this living legend. Hell, I might even devote a regular column to him, football related or not...

Football lampooned Python-style. Intelligent wit and mad as a box of frogs - if only current sketch shows could recapture some of the Python magic...

Oh yesh – this will live in the memory for a very long time indeed. We’ve had our own little troop of dancing girls (the Reebok Rebels) at the ground for some time now. And, whilst their willingness to turn out in all conditions is very admirable, the problem is that they’re all 14(ish) and dance with the enthusiasm that you’d expect from a highly embarrassed 14 year old (especially a 14 year old from Bolton, with corned-beef legs and a penchant for Greggs steak bakes). The whole situation is, frankly, rather uncomfortable and disconcerting every time they take the field.

As referred to in the recent classic match post, this was vintage Anelka – a world class finish from a world class striker. There looked to be very little on when Anelka picked up a peach of a ball from Kevin Davies on the left flank. However, a deft touch inside was soon followed by a rocket of a 25 yarder which a dozen Jens Lehmanns wouldn’t have stopped. Sheer poetry. Sheer artistry. Sheer excitable feelings which really shouldn’t be happening to a grown man unless he’s watching Holly Willoughby having a catfight with Kelly Brook in a big tub of custard. With Abi Clancy as referee. Also in the big tub of custard.

Now this is curious. It isn't funny due to the cheesy script and partial slapstick (which were intended to be amusing but really aren't). This is funny because it's so bad. The 'action' sequences are funny. The banter between the 2 stars is funny (for all the wrong reasons). The 'spark' between Keegan and Cooper is funny - their mutual-admiration rivalled only by that of Maverick and Goose in Top Gun. Take a look and judge for yourself.

This could be good news. Polish striker Ebi Smolarek has signed on a season-long loan deal from Racing Santander, to provide some much needed cover in the striker department. Although Ebi didn't have the greatest of scoring records in La Liga last season (scoring 4 goals in 34 appearances, though he did play on the wing quite often), his record for Poland is quite impressive, notching 13 goals in 34 games, including 9 in the Euro 2008 qualifying group. The deal has an option of making the move permanent for a £4.8 million fee at the end of the season, and Ricardo Vaz Te has moved to Santander (on loan) as part of the deal. Here's the man in action, accompanied by the dulcet tones of Tina Turner - what more could you possibly ask for?

Oh yes - they don't play the game like this anymore. In case there's any blog readers over the age of 80 (and why the blazes shouldn't there be?), here's a sepia-toned reminder of how the beautiful game used to be in it's glory days. Jumpers for goalposts, sandwiches being passed around, Mr George Banjo, the wing wizardry of Charles 'Charlie' Charles, keepers smoking snouts and good old gentlemanly violence. Oh to see such purity and soul in the game once again...

Could it possibly be anything else to start off this series? This has to be the one of the finest goals (if not the finest) in the history of the club. The goal itself bears many of the trademarks of the scorer. It was flamboyant, audacious, risky and utterly compelling. To even consider attempting this was the work of a genius/madman; to actually pull it off was simply breath-taking. Quite simply, the best goal ever scored by an Elvis-loving, hard-partying, immaculately-coiffured, supermodel-loving footballer. God bless you Frank. May you bask in the glory of this wonder strike for the rest of your days.

This isn't a work of fiction but it is one of the funniest clips I've ever seen. Our very own Mayor of London showing Johnny Foreigner that we Brits don't stand any messing. Absolutely spiffing and proof that Boris has studied the best-selling "Paul Scholes' How To Tackle" DVD for many a year now.

This is guaranteed to see me lynched at the next BWFC game, given how precious a large number of Bolton fans are about the likes of John McGinlay, Andy Walker and (the hardest omission for me) Frank Worthington. So I’ve included none of these (in the starting XI at least)! The 2 strikers pick themselves as far as I’m concerned, and here’s why:

CF: Nat Lofthouse

Quite simply has to be in there. A one club man (try finding many like that now-a-days) and clearly the most important and revered player in the club’s history. Played when the club actually last won a major trophy, had a phenomenal scoring record for England and was one of the finest strikers, of his era, in the world. Too many plaudits are handed out posthumously (when they actually mean very little) so it really is time for us all to be congratulating Sir Nat. The greatest Bolton player ever.

CF: Nicolas Anelka

Yes, yes, yes – he does get the nod over McGinlay, Walker, Worthington and Holdsworth (hahaha – only joking on that last one)! And here’s for why – he is, quite simply, the most naturally gifted striker I’ve ever seen (and probably ever will see) in a BWFC shirt. Class in a glass. The real deal. For Big Sam to get him here in the first place was a piece of supreme opportunistic brilliance – for Big Sam to actually see him settled, happy (well, as happy as Anelka gets) and performing at a consistently high level was pure genius. Truly world class, it was an honour to see him perform for 18 months. A European Cup winner, Premier League winner and, at the time when he moved to Chelsea, the most expensive player of all time (in terms of cumulative transfer fees) – you can’t really say that about many other Bolton striker. Credit to a YouTube poster named foodbwfc for this fine compilation of Anelka's time at The Reebok.

Coogan's best character waxing lyrical about the beautiful game. Sheer poetry.

Now this is pure, 100% comedy gold and is the first in a series of posts which will highlight the very best in football-related comedy, be it TV sketches, documentaries or film clips.

First up is, for my money, a work of genius. The legendary Peter Cook appeared as 4 separate characters on a special Clive Anderson show back in 1993. Whilst all were hilarious, the legendary football manager Alan Latchley was head and shoulders above the others:

Going against the grain with the first BWFC legend, as this isn't a player (or manager for that matter). The first BWFC legend is revered around these parts for his completely biased, blinkered, undying love of the club - a love which shone through in his 'one of the boys' style commentaries. The first BWFC legend is the incomparable Dave Higson.

Dave provided the commentary for a number of Bolton matches in the late 1980's / early-mid 1990's when a company named Roadrunner produced BWFC's videos. A master of the art, his distinctly northern brogue graced many a memorable vhs copy of some legendary Bolton matches. Whilst occasionally mixing up the odd player name here and there, and whilst occasionally insulting the odd ref or two, Dave wore his heart on his sleeve, finding it particularly difficult to hide his affiliation to the club whenever a goal was scored.

Unfairly frozen out of the picture when Bolton's stock began to rise during the Premiership years, Dave's time in the spotlight was effectively over. Thankfully, Messers Baddiel and Skinner found the time to give Dave a national platform, the results of which are shown below.

Remaining a die-hard Bolton fan even after his services were rendered unnecessary, Dave unfortunately moved onto the great commentary box in the sky in 2005. But for those of us who lived through the ups and downs of the 80's / 90's, Dave will always retain a special place in our hearts. Rest in peace Dave - you'll never be forgotten.

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…