Die Mensch-Maschine
Vile news emanating from the club this week in the form of Wycombe's pre-season in Dortmund being a behind-closed-doors special. Yes, that's right, no Wycombe fans will be allowed to watch their side taking on a bunch of keen Germans, instead they are being offered the chance to watch Wanderers play dreary failures Oxford United later in the summer.
Fair enough, you might say, Wycombe will be working on some special tactics so that they don't lose every fucking game once the season reaches February. Or perhaps the German side will be smashed up on growth hormone and could endanger the fans. But the fact remains, the club pumped this trip like Christmas Day earlier this year and for many Wycombe fans it was the only thing keeping them going towards the end of the campaign.
At Barnet I saw grown men toying with cyanide capsules in the palm of their hands at half-time, so physically repulsed were they by the dreadful exhibition they were watching. These haunted, troubled dreamers were only kept from the sweet stench of suicide with the promise of Germany, the Fatherland, and a continental summer. These luckless lads must now cancel their foreign roving and instead trudge down the A40 like so many lame horses before them.
Wycombe Wanderers take your dreams and pack them into a tiny ball and then fire them into the heart of the sun. And they laugh while they do it and they charge you for the privilege. But book early and you'll get €3 off.
Fair enough, you might say, Wycombe will be working on some special tactics so that they don't lose every fucking game once the season reaches February. Or perhaps the German side will be smashed up on growth hormone and could endanger the fans. But the fact remains, the club pumped this trip like Christmas Day earlier this year and for many Wycombe fans it was the only thing keeping them going towards the end of the campaign.
At Barnet I saw grown men toying with cyanide capsules in the palm of their hands at half-time, so physically repulsed were they by the dreadful exhibition they were watching. These haunted, troubled dreamers were only kept from the sweet stench of suicide with the promise of Germany, the Fatherland, and a continental summer. These luckless lads must now cancel their foreign roving and instead trudge down the A40 like so many lame horses before them.
Wycombe Wanderers take your dreams and pack them into a tiny ball and then fire them into the heart of the sun. And they laugh while they do it and they charge you for the privilege. But book early and you'll get €3 off.
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