Sunday, 20 January 2008

They Don't Like It Up 'Em!

Wrexham's performance yesterday could be measured by the Dons' mental deterioration as the game went on. They were certainly a side in Paul Ince's image on Saturday, getting increasingly fractious as the game went on, dissenting like no other side I've seen this season despite the fact that even their own website admitted that they got a lot of generous decisions, and hitting the deck in the manner of a man trying to convince social services he deserved a blue badge for his car! I delighted in all this. They didn't like it up 'em!

It carried on after the game, I can confirm courtesy of my co-commentator Rich. Firstly he overheard a comment from one of the their players as he trudged in from what looked from a distance like the most depressed, perfunctory warm-down I've ever seen. I've cleaned it up substantially, but it went along the lines of “We should lose to the bottom side in the country.”

Perhaps he was preparing himself for the salvo they were about to receive from their boss. Ince came stomping out to do the post-match interviews out on the pitch, brushing past a gang of us who were waiting in the tunnel on the way. He didn't take long to offer his words of wisdom as a couple of minutes later he came back in, and that's where it got really scary!

As he came back in he banged into Rich's back. Not a man likely to back down, Rich gave him a withering glare you might expect to see if Rafa Benitez opened his mail to find an invitation to a barbecue at Jurgen Klinsmann's place. Ince inevitably responded in kind and suddenly I felt like I was standing between Heather Mills and Paul McCartney. I'm not saying I'm a stranger to confrontation; I once had a row with ex-Manchester City striker Darren Beckford while on air which nearly turned very nasty. However, standing between one of the world's most renowned nineties' midfield hardmen and a bloke who's well over six foot and is likely to attack first and ask questions later isn't my idea of a stroll in the park. After what felt like an hour, but was probably just enough time for the director of a Spaghetti Western to cut across increasingly tightly to the two protagonists' narrowing eyes, Ince turned on his heel and made his way back to the changing room. Phew!

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