Jen Kelly – a.k.a. Cheshire’s Revenge / The Word Nerd – brings ilovemacc her own take on the highs and lows of The Silkmen
I started this blog back in March 2019 after witnessing a truly terrible display by The Silkmen against Bury. Trudging out of Gigg Lane on that chilly Spring afternoon, my brain was so full of anger and confusion over what I’d just witnessed that I had to get it out. Get it out to try and make sense of the lackluster performance. The absolute lack of any clue or passion or anything resembling actual football.
As the months went on and we survived relegation by the skin of our teeth, I’ve kept writing. I’ve tried to focus on the football but, as we all know, football seems to be taking a back seat at the moment.
I can definitely appreciate the irony that this all started at Gigg Lane!
Heartache and heartbreak
I wish I was sitting down this afternoon to write about the football. I wish I was analysing the game, looking at the missed chances or Dazza’s team selection. But no. Instead I’m wondering how to verbalise the last 48 hours without just bashing my head against my keyboard.
On Friday night, as the various reports of Joe Sealey and Amar’s conversations rumbled on, I went for a drink. Sat in the Jolly Sailor on Sunderland Street (excellent boozer, just FYI) I tried not to think about what was happening up the road. Sitting with non-football people, the conversation wandered from work chat to politics to the best topping to have on toast*. But every few minutes I found myself checking my phone, looking for news.
You see, the players and staff were still waiting to be paid. The first deadline came and went at 6pm. Nothing had changed. Apparently Amar was then given until 8pm to sort it out. Pay up and the game goes ahead. Don’t pay up and the strike continues. No money, no match. 8pm came and went. The last I heard was that the deadline had been extended to 10am the next morning.
It was at some point late on Friday night that I decided not to go the Mansfield game, assuming it was on. I’d been round in circles in my own mind, pulling myself apart worrying about the whole damn thing. Because that’s the right word – worrying.
There’s no place like home…
I’ve tried to explain the whole football obsession to so many people over the years. Some have got it right off the bat. Others, not so much. I know I’ve chosen MTFC over partners, loved ones and friends. I know I’ve pissed people off in the process. But I also know why it is that I do it all.
It’s because that bloody football club is my home. It’s watched me grow up, it’s watched me laugh and it’s watched me cry. It’s made me feel better and it’s made me feel a lot lot worse. But it’s always been there, without fail. People come and people go, but your football club is always there.
Until it’s not.
I decided to stay away from the game yesterday because I can no longer support a regime that treats people worse than insects. The well documented pay issues are just the crust – dig into the filling and you’ll uncover bullying, disrespect, bigotry and rumours of fraud. And that’s just what we know about. Employees are being treated like absolute dirt, with no regard for their mental health or well-being. No regard whatsoever. And the fact that this is my club being dragged through the mud is truly heartbreaking.
Knights in (blue and) white satin…
So, what next? The game went ahead yesterday after all, with news that “most people had been paid”. Rumours are still flying about all sorts of things, and the news that the police have been called over possible issues with the pension pot is very worrying. There is also the small matter of the EFL punishments – we’ve been charged but what that actually means is still yet to be determined. And all this amid a very real chance that we could have a saviour in the form of Joe Sealey, riding in on his blue and white horse with a whole bag of cash and a warm hug for us all. We’ll just have to wait and see if the horse turns out to be a Trojan one.
I’ll be at Salford next week. After missing three games on the trot I’m really looking forward to it. Just 90 minutes to absorb myself in football and try to forget about all this, just for a little while. By then everything could’ve changed all over again.
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