We might return to the resigned, dry wryness of the 70s

People on the terraces said actual funny things. They didn't just spit vile abuse at their own manager.

Deep into another 0-0 draw, one of our blundering, semi-co-ordinated 'footballers' shanks one high and wide onto the roof of the North Bank and the bloke next to me, a fat lad in a flasher's mac tied with string around his waist, says absolutely deadpan, "I'll get it."

I'm actually píssing myself even now. "I'll get it." The lad was a comedy fúcking genius.