NUFC, shock, awe and the French Connection.

So the silly season is here. And for once it seems NUFC have been caught up in all the sillyness. So much so that the shackles have been removed from Mike Ashleys Wallet.  In my head I have got images of a wallet the size of a whale lashed to the floor with guy ropes and wooden pins – keeping its cargo door from flipping open and squashing a number of poor unfortunate serfs beneath it.

Fashioned from the leather of 100 unfortunate beasts, it groans as rope by rope is released sharply from its tether by a sharpened blade in the hands of a biblically dressed Pardew. The release is a mixture of the noise of a whip cracking and the springing boing only a mouth harp can replicate.

Finally it opens. I am in shock, I think we are all in shock. The timing of it could even be the route cause of the earth quake measured by scientists in Birmingham – 3.2 on the Richter scale! That is small on that particular scale, but to the thousands of NUFC fans seemingly resigned to another transfer window of doom, the shocks were seismic and the aftershocks are still being felt.
Not one signing, not two, nor three, four or five – but conceivably six if you are to believe everything being written. Are we rejoicing in the streets? No we are not. There is still a sense of disappointment that this was not looked at in the summer, a move which would have hopefully prevented this fall into our perilous position. There is also the disappointment that all these guys are French and are untried and no matter how good they appear on paper – gambles. Not all foreign imports are instant successes, look no further than our very own Captain Colo and young Davide Santon. We with fingers crossed and breath baited hope this belated gamble works and that they hit the ground running. They need to.
At least we can now (maybe) escape the circus and hullabaloo of Transfer Deadline Day. I say maybe as I for one will probably end up watching it, if only for the ever increasingly ridiculous Jim White. The Scot after last year can feasibly only top his entrance into the studio in a couple of ways. The first , I have discounted, is to be lowered into the studio on a stage with dancing girls and the exhumed corpse of James Brown dancing in a soul style donned in the garb of Apollo Creed from Rocky IV. The option I can see him being suitable for is being wheeled into the studio shackled in orange boiler suit, and masked like Hannibal Lecter. After all on these manic occasions he is regularly seen to froth at the mouth like a hydrophobic camel eating sherbert flying saucers. Perfect.

The preposterous nature of the whole occasion will hopefully this time not be the stage of last minute sales of our best players, and surely not an occasion where we sit gazing at the screen as the clock marches towards the deadline only to end up signing Antoine Sibierski’s Sister. No offence to Gerty. No, done and out of the way nice early and settled will do me. Even if we are a window late, lets get behind them and pray to the Geordie Gods these gifts are not false idols.

As in every January, it is historically a notoriously difficult time to land true bargains and not the dross you would find in a Sports Direct Bargain Bin on Boxing day. Will we be taking home a fine piece of objet d’art, or the Jive Bunny Mega mix cassette your Mam bought with Green shield stamps in 1985? Only one way to find out! I for one cannot knock this gamble, it was a necessity. Let’s hope the notorious casino high rollers hit the jackpot.
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