By Maria Horner
One of the joys of football is the build up to a game, the comparisons of recent performances, stats, historic rivalries and of course personalities.
In FGR’s Mark Cooper we have the perfect villain from a perfect villain castle - albeit one grown from parsnips in a forest of broccoli.
As with any clash between sides it’s the differences they exploit in order to goad, undermine and berate the ‘enemy’ to wage psychological warfare on the army; to take the emotional upper hand before battle on the field.
Like the pre-match boxing weigh-in, the preamble between football fans and the respective managers is exaggerated, a lot of pomp and ceremony and fist waving. It’s all part of the refined dance to ensure everything is set for the right amount of tension at kick off.
So FGR’s eco-vegan credentials which in the outside world are all very commendable and outwardly good (as long as no one is forced to eat a vegetable hot dog in a gluten free roll, unless of course you enjoy such fare - fair play) but it does give meat to the stew for the opposition cat calls.
So we had Mark Copper ‘the cad’,
flapping his cape in indignation, who hasn’t failed to delight Imps fans with his comments about the club and our princely Danny and Nicky ( both obviously the most newly eligible managers to grace the kingdom of football).
So the stage was set and the triumph of Rhead’s first goal set off our second weapon of mass destruction; the sound wall of noise from the Co-op stand hurtling towards Cooper’s lair. It was followed by the crushing bellows of ‘You’re getting sacked in the morning (repeat to tune of Guantanamera) well surely that would be enough to force him to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West ? But no !! The beast was yet to deliver his final ‘yelp’as his winged monkey Doidge shot past our hero Vickers.
With the gasping giant vegetable monster yet to be slayed.... up arose our mighty friendly giant again, angered no doubt by the falling over army, he rose through the steaming blades of green to his seven foot magnificent grandeur, all manly thirty stone of him (Ok it’s for effect keep with me ...) and plunged the final dagger into the heart of the fearfully wide eyed mushroom that was FGR.
The villain, stopped in his tracks at the defeat, took his bony fingers and threw his kelp cape around his shoulders and slunk off, while the Cowley Princes and the people cheered and bells rang out in celebration and we hailed our knight in shining armour who is being waved off to fight in the fair kingdom of Norwich.
And as the curtain falls...that’s where it should end, there’s no reason to take any of this off-stage or outside the dressing room door or to the car park...