Julen Lopetegui had barely enough time to get comfortable inside the dugout when Marvin, the pessimistic android, squeezed beside him to offer enthusiastic support. Ignoring the depressed robot's vote of confidence, Lopetegui stepped out onto the pitch to a scene no longer Hitchhiker's but pure Hitchcock.
An avian attack in waiting, hundreds of starved cynics perched on the seats inside the London Stadium, claws freshly sharpened, all waiting silently for any false move so they could take to the sky and begin their savage assault on the former manager of Real Madrid, Sevilla and Wolves.
Success in this part of London has been more comatose than the residents of Sleepy Hollow. It's so sleepy that Freddy Krueger is rumoured to have sold his property on Elm Street and moved to Stratford.
Rare highlights include the UEFA Europa Conference League title during the 2022-23 season and the Southern League Division Two title in 1899. The Club is trying to achieve the impossible: entertaining football with a team nursing a David Moyes hangover. This, with a squad strengthened in attack rather than at the back, despite so many defensive frailties over the last few seasons.
Up front, Kudus has shone the brightest, but even he has struggled to recapture the form that lit up the early months of the season. Niclas Füllkrug may've scored against the champions, but he's hardly set the premier league on fire either. While at the back, only Aaron Wan-Bissaka has impressed, albeit fleetingly. In addition, Bowen and Antonio are still unavailable, so it's hardly surprising that the goals-against column is higher than the goals scored.
While Lopetegui resembles the reclusive Edward Scissorhands, hands tied rather than replaced with scissors, Graham Potter has hovered for weeks in the background - trimming hedges around Stratford, hoping to one day style the play of a team lacking identity. Potter is a man trying to start a new chapter in his life, a new chapter in the history of a Football Club that, over the years, has sunken slower than the Titanic.
At long last, a trophy cabinet more desolate than Fargo could be brimming with topiary, and more importantly, the supporters, heedless of their team's failings, might be entertained. Don't expect it to raise a smile on Marvin's face, but maybe on David Sullivan's.
Comments