'We Got Married In A Fever .....'

Couldn’t make the open day, didn’t go to Portsmouth (or Wimbledon for that matter), and still a week before Inverness Caledonia'n Thistle. Delighted that Evina’s staying with us and glad Wood has signed up (defence sorted, just the forwards and some possible manoeuvring for midfield to go). Also pleased about the Trust’s campaign to get Asset of Community Value status for The Valley (my first thought was as the place is by a distance the holiest place on the planet it surely couldn’t cross anybody’s mind ever to think of changing it, but we know there are the unenlightened out there). But there’s got to be something to write about, other than idly wondering whether I was sent the only season highlights DVD which doesn’t work properly (it might be my equipment).

So, as an eternal optimist and perennial tryer (neither are actually true but they form the intro), I want another futile stab at a new song. My influence here is clearly limited. I sit in the East Stand and we never actually start anything, plus I still bear the mental scars from the failure to get going an adaptation of David Essex’s Rock On for Therry Racon (mention of whom prompted a quick Google; seems he’s without a club having left Millwall, where he did an admirable job – two years of wages pocketed and one league appearance, presumably forced on him). Still feel that would have been a belter (‘Racon ... ooh my soul’).

As my musical interests, with some notable exceptions, start and finish with the Sixties (or residues of that decade, such as the mighty Leonard Cohen), the chances of me coming up with anything contemporary are slim. Stick to what you know. So there I was, playing a bit of Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood as one does, and of course on comes their version of Jackson. It was made famous by Johnny Cash (and June Carter of course), but not written by them. For anyone not acquainted with it, try YouTube and enjoy.

We do have a sort of song for the skipper, but it’s a bit half-hearted and clearly out of date. He no longer runs down the wing for us. And there’s a classic with his name on it (the fact that it’s about a failed marriage – or soon to be failed marriage if you want – can be easily overlooked).

I have no pretentions as a lyricist, but here’s my stab at a first verse:

“He came in from Notts County,
As full-back then got reversed.
We’ve been singing ‘bout Jackson,
Ever since he scored his first.
Oh Johnnie Jackson (Jackson, Jackson),
He don’t mess around.
Yeah Johnnie Jackson (Jackson, Jackson),
Look out, he’ll take you down.”

I don’t have a verse two (and I'm happy to admit it ain’t exactly much of a verse one), but any contributions would be more than welcome.

Hopefully we’ll sign someone from Senegal, Montreal, Donnegal or anywhere else that rhymes with you know where to revive that one. And if Coulibaly joins us and takes the French (including France-associated) contingent still higher, I promise to co-opt my partner Suzanne to come up with something suitable, to the tune of La Marseillaise no doubt. Oh, I’m on a roll now:

“Couilbaly and Evina,
Plus Dervite and Kermorgant .....”