Wednesday 2 : 4 Sheff United - OMDT

[Lord Snooty]

It is here.  Derby day. 

 

Wednesday – V – United

 

 There has been much written about the game over this last week. Team news. Press conferences. A millions threads. On their boards and our. On the radio.  Much of it old hat. Point scoring. Banter. Mind games.  Truth is we all know about United. The Cities fourth club after Sheffield, Hallam and ourselves.

 

But tonight I talk about something else.

'History,' it's often said 'is written by the winners.' That is true enough of War. The dead cannot tell the true events.

But sometimes history is written to protect. To protect us all.

However we live today in times where people are less accepting of what they're told. Where people want, nay demand , the truth. Where people question the validity of all events passed as fact by 'the man'.

 

With that in mind and with you honourable and wonderful supporters having shown me enough mental strength to have seen and got through some terrible things in our life time. Darren Potter corners. Alan Irvines pre match press conferences. I think that you are ready. 

 

Tonight. I give you the truth. The awful truth.   

Tonight I want to focus on the dark tale of 'their' support. I will retell this well buried truth of dread using historical texts, communication of the time amongst the main players in the affair and the diaries and journals of those involved as to why we are still playing Sheffield United today.

Sit comfortably if you can. Draw yourself close to the fire. Those faint of heart, ensure the doors are locked and the gates are secured. If you have younger supporters in the family, you may decide to save them from this until they are ready. 

 

 For what I am about to impart on you is one will send a shiver down your spine and put dread thoughts or horror in your head from which you might never escape the mental scarring. 

 

Wednesday - V - United

The Beginning

 

 

The World in 1889 was a very different place to the one we live in today.

It was in that year that that global cultural icon of France, the Eiffel Tower opened in Paris a forming the entrance to World Trade Fair .  It was the year that Richard D'Oyly Carte opened his  Savoy Hotel in London  . It was also the year that two of the greatest evils of man were brought into this world.  On the 20th of April the most famed despot of them all, Adolf Hitler was born and just one month before that The Sheffield United football club came into being 

 

 

The Club

The Club was born the brainchild of one of the most influential men in, not only the history of Sheffield, but the history of British Sport.  Sir Charles Clegg was a noted Sheffield Lawyer and footballer for Sheffield FC, Broomhill and The Wednesday. He played in the first International between Scotland and England and after his retirement refereed two Cup finals, was the Chairman of Wednesday, later Chairman of the Football Association, the president of Sheffield United Cricket club and at three different times the Mayor of Sheffield!   Our Man @Dunsby  I’m sure will have a host of material for those interested in the life of this exceptional man.  

But it is a decision he made at the Adelphi Hotel that we are focusing on today, for it was there that he made a decision which would change things, for the worst. Forever.

 

 

In 1885 top class cricket was being played at the Lane and The Wednesday were becoming a club of note.  All was well in the world. But the landlords at the Lane were taking a cut of the gate. So In 1887 Wednesday opted to leave and build their own ground at Olive Grove.

Wednesday had proved to be a massive money-spinner to the landlords of the Lane and as football blossomed and became hugely popular they were suddenly left with a sizeable hole in their pocket after Wednesdays exit. 

Looking around the packed ground during an FA Cup Semi-Final between Preston and West Brom, that year Clegg decided there was nothing else for it. To bring in and make up for lost revenue he would have to start up his own club to play at the Lane.

 

 

Birth of the Club

There was a problem however. The Wednesday, looking dashing in their blue kits and with their purpose-built ground were the big draw. They had already garnered a following.  They already had 12 years of history. Children had already been ‘born Wednesday’.  No one was interested in a new club.

To try to give his new club legitimacy Clegg decided to do what Stan Lee did at Marvel Comics years later and try to follow the previous successful formula. 

Simply, they would try to piggyback Wednesdays heritage.

 

A meeting was called at The Adelphi Hotel, the birthplace of The Wednesday. 

This was the first trick, trying to ape the Wednesday origin story :  "Cricket club founds football club in Adelphi"  

So blatant. Anyway......that's what they did. The United Cricket Club formed a Football club.  

 

 

Of course, it wasn't as easy as just forming a club. Oh no!

Because the truth was no one came to the lane, unless it was to watch the cricket. 

Clegg was determined though that this new scheme simply had to work.  To make them more attractive to potential fans he had them play in the same navy shorts and socks as The Wednesday. That didn’t work.  Clegg was  becoming weary but was a man not to be defeated. He hired a Director of Operations to run the club day to day. 

That man was Bertrand Shelley Bassett.  As the third part of their piggybacking attempt they then adopted the old Wednesday nickname ‘The Blades’. The fledgling club, hoping that it might subliminally attract support because of it’s previous link to the Majesty of The Wednesday. 

It didn’t work. 

 

Next they adopted the City Coat of Arms as badge in an attempt to make them look more representative of the City as a whole.  

It was a desperate shot and it was all to no avail. 

 

The Club was rejected by the public.  

 

                       

 

A very peculiar Chap

 

Bassett was becoming worried himself. With average gates of 13, and many of them people who were left over after falling asleep at the cricket, he had been hired to do a job and he wasn’t succeeding.  He was all set to pack in and give it up as a bad job when a chance encounter changed things - for him and the ‘New Blades’.

 

First we look at two pieces of evidence which are available at Sheffield Town Hall records department. 

 

 

Diary of Bertrand Bassett, October 14^th 1889

“As much as I try the people of this town will not be turned to the New Blades. I have tried every trick , including letting grown men in on juvenile tickets. But alas, nought will bring a spark of willing amongst the people. I have given all that I can as a man, tried every trick in the book. But I’m flogging a dead horse. Among the hearts and souls of the people of this fine City it is The Wednesday that draws them. It is the only club in this City, and even I, an employee of the new club must admit that The Wednesday is the only Club this City actually needs. I intend to write to Mr Clegg this evening to tender to him my resignation.”

 

That very same evening he did indeed pen a letter to his employer - :

 

Letter to Charles Clegg,  October 14^th 1889

 

“Dear Charles,

It is with greatest and sincerest regret that I must tender my resignation as Operations Manager for the United Football Club. I have done all I can in the role and given it as much gusto as it is possible for a man to give. I have had sleepless nights and pushed my brain to the very limits of its capacity in trying to think of ways to legitimise the Club.  But I dread to say that I can do no more. It is, in my opinion, a white elephant. For a while we might attract players but we will never attract the great Sheffield public.

I am sorry I have failed to complete a task in which I knew you had so much hope.

 

Yours in sport

Bertie

 

What happened next has been the subject of much debate. What we did know is that Bassett withdrew that resignation. But never the reason why. Until  2003 when  missing pages of Bassett’s Diary were found in secret vault during refurbishment of the City Museum in Weston Park.

 

 

Journal of Bertrand Bassett, October 17^th 1889

 

“Mr Clegg took me out tonight for a meal to say thanks for the work which I have carried out for him. Of course I was embarrassed by his kindness, having tended my resignation but could not refuse his offer. We dined at the Grand Hotel.

 

We had just had our starters when we noted that there was a chap on a nearby table who was quite the worse for wear. This frustrated Sir Charles, a keen teetotaller, and his brow furrowed as he called the waiter and asked him to have a word with the chap. 

He did quieten down, for a while, but by the time we had taken our pudding the man was in a frightful state.  Sir Charles took matters into his own hands and went and demanded the man behave himself.  It was then that the chap broke down. Tears streaming from his eyes and then he fair started wailing like a banshee.  “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. I wanted no part of it Sir, I was only watching. The men.. .the pigs … I can’t sleep now ,my nights are haunted by them….I can’t sleep knowing what’s happened.  I’ll go to prison Sir. Or go to Hell!”

 

Well the man was in a frightful way. Sir Charles called for his driver and like the Samaritan he is he decided to drop the chap off home.

    “Where do you live?” he demanded of the man as we bundled him unceremoniously into the back of the carriage.

    “In the student lodgings at the Medical School, but I can’t go there. Nooo! The men things, ye Gods, the Pigs…men…If he finds out…..if he finds out…..”

    “Who finds out? What on earth is going on..”

    “He’s making them Sir….making them…Pigmen”

    “You’re delirious Sir, I’ll drop you home at once and I suggest you give up the liquor”

    “I don’t drink,” said the young man “least not till recently. It’s the only way to make me sleep. To make me stop the dreams”

    “Well you did a good job of drinking tonight” said Clegg taking the seat opposite. “Now you’re a grown man. Dreams shouldn’t be keeping you awake.”

    “They’re dreams, true enough. But what I’m dreaming about is real enough. Seen it with my own eyes”

    “Seen what?”

The boy looked out of the window, his face green, as we clattered along the road

 

       “Dr Stevens,” He said eventually “He’s ….he’s….he’s raising the dead Sir.”
       “Absolute nonsense!”
The boy’s face turned to us full of horror.
       “You must believe me …I Can’t go back!”
       “Don’t talk silly”
       “…Dr Stevens….Dr Stevens is  making them,…the men...but not men…pigs…the walking Pigs.”
       “Dr Henry Stevens. I know the man. He’s a genius and as fine a surgeon as this country has ever seen…”
       “Yes! The very same. …Oh no….I should have known- you’re in his circle aren’t you..…don’t tell him….please Sir don’t tell him….don’t make me go back”
       “Tell him what, that you are a drunk?”
       “No, Sir, no don’t tell him what I have told you. I beseech you”
       “I’m afraid I will have to, there are standards. The School has a reputation; it can’t be seen to be housing drunkards”
And with that, a look of complete defeat on his face, the man leapt from the carriage and tumbled into the gutter on West Street where he fell under the hooves of a passing dray horse which was pulling an ale cart to the Beehive.  We stepped from the carriage, but it was too late. His face was a mangled wreckage. What was left of his brain was oozed from the ears of his crushed skull.  “Hell!…I’m going to Hell!….” he whispered as the light drained from his eyes.

 

Clegg looked at me and I at him. It was a horror.  It was then that I saw some paper sticking out of the man’s pocket. I looked again at Clegg. He followed my gaze and nodded. I quickly bent and retrieved the document before a crowd emerged from the pub and arrived on the scene. We gave a brief statement to the constable who attended and then went back to Sir Charles’ house.

 

Whilst taking a reviving cup tea I leant on the fire place as I read out loud to Sir Charles the contents of the document.-:

 

“Lord forgive me, for what I have seen. Forgive my soul for the wretched unhuman things I have seen done. For I only ever wanted to become a practitioner of health.  But at that place I saw things which were so, so wrong.  Aberrations….”

 

To cut to the quick of the thing . The lad had gone to great details to allege that Dr Stevens was carrying out illegal scientific experiments. Horrible, grotesque experiments, whereby he was trying to bring life back to the dead by jump starting their bodies. Dr Stevens, the dead man professed, was part of an unseen movement amongst Sheffield’s elite known as The Nailmakers Glove, the Steel magnates, landowners, mill owners, and gentrified farmers who through their connections and with their money they had funded Stevens’ research. These men, wanting to make the most of the Industrial boom were willing to allow Stevens to carry out his work to suit their own ends. Stevens was promising that he could make an army of pliable workers. An entirely new breed of work force.

 

 

It all seemed far too preposterous to comprehend, never mind give heed to. But that young man had taken it to heart so much that he had taken his own life. When I finished reading, Clegg looked at me for a moment, and then rang the bell on the table by his chair.  “Stubbs,” he said “prepare the carriage. Mr Bassett and I are going out”.   

 

We rattled through the misty Sheffield evening to the Medical School where the night porter grudgingly let us in when Clegg handed him a florin for his trouble.  We arrived shortly at Dr Stevens’ office. He didn’t look too shocked to see us.

 

“Please. Take a seat” he offered as we entered “a drink perhaps? Ah of course, you don’t partake do you Charles…”

 

Clegg didn’t take the proffered seat, but told Stevens that he had read the document and he slammed it down on the desk between himself and the Doctor. “I have no idea what is happening in here Stevens, but I ask as an old friend, I ask that it stops this day”

       “It won’t.”

       “You admit then that there are practises going on here that…”

       “These practises will be commonplace, we’re merely ahead of the pack, old boy

       “What you’re doing here is Ungodly, I demand that you stop. If I have to I will...

       “Will what Charles? Have me arrested?” the doctor laughed sipping from his glass.

       “If that is what it takes,” Said Clegg and turning to the door shouted “Inspector!”

Behind us the office door opened and the Chief Inspector, Robert Dibble, strode into the office. Clegg turned from the policeman to Dr Stevens. “I would have given you every chance to stop if you had given me your word.” When Stevens said nothing he turned to the Inspector “Arrest him Inspector”.

 

There was a moment’s silence. 

It was broken by Clegg “Inspector, I said arrest the man”

The officer turned to face him and took off his hat. “We don’t want a scene now do we gentlemen. I’m sure this can all be sorted out amicably”

      “What?!” replied my bewildered employer.

      “There’s no need for any unwanted bad press. No need for attention to be drawn”

      “Would you like a drink, Bob?” said Stevens, extending a glass over his desk toward the policeman.

      “Very kind doctor” said the Inspector

 

         “This is corrupt!” said Clegg “All of it, and now Sheffield’s own Police, the protectors of honesty, decorum, of justice…turning a blind eye. Complicit in this, in this, this aberration.”

          “It’s for the greater good” said Stevens “What we achieve here will benefit this City, not just in our lifetime or our children’s life time, but our grandchildren’s and theirs after them. We have here, at our fingertips, the potential, won’t you see, to make Sheffield the absolute powerhouse of Europe. Of the World. We hold the key to make our City a global juggernaut. The richest city on the entire planet. You, you can be part of it too Charles.”

           “Money means nothing!” shouted Clegg “A man’s achievements are judged by God, not by wealth!”

           “Ahh, but which God? There are so many to choose from aren’t there?”

           “You’re playing God!”

           “And why not, Charles. I might make a better job of it”

           “For wealth!”

           “Yes for wealth to my sponsors But also for the recognition. To make a mark in history.  We’re a short time of this world, Charles. We must make the most of every opportunity that presents itself to us. We must pursue our every dream”

           “I’ve pursued mine and achieved them. Played football for my country, played for The Wednesday, refereed the Cup final. Started my own team”

           “Ahh yes, the ‘second hand cutlasses’ ‘The blunt blades’’”

           “What?”

           “You must know Charles that is what the people call them. It’s a laughing stock from top to bottom. They’ll be under within 9 months and forgotten soon. Relegated to nothing but a footnote in the history books, along with the Zulus and the Engineers.”

 

           “We’re working on…”

           “You’re working on nothing Charles. Your man here has handed in his notice. He’s seen the writing on the wall. Isn’t that so Bassett?” he said turning to look at me.              “Berties Blade’s are dead and buried. What was your attendance at the last match?”

           “I don’t see the relevance”

           “You’re becoming a laughing stock Charles. You’re legacy tainted.”

           “What for, having a failed football team! It is your legacy that will be tainted with your evil experiments.”

           “The attendance Charles, it’s a simple question”              

           “Seventy”          

           “And what time did you open the gates to let the freeloaders in?”

Clegg looked at me. I answered for him “One minute past three”

            “One minute past three. And still they wouldn’t come. Not even for free. Hahaha. You must see Charles. It’s a white elephant. But what If I told you I could fill that ground. “

            “Fill it?”

            “Or near enough. What if I told you that your beloved Bramall Lane would actually start to make money again and not be sold off”

And it was then, that I saw Clegg, this paragon of virtue waiver. “Show me.” He said.

 

Pigman Culture

 

In the tiled theatre we all stood around the table lit by flickering light.

The Beast, for there is no other word, stared blankly through milky white eyes.

 

               

                “What is this… thing?”

                “The future, Charles.”

                “Does it talk?”

                “No, but…we are hopeful that the future experiments, when we have honed our skills may see them able to communicate through a series of morse-coded grunts. We are currently working on injecting the cerebral cortex with culture from porcine spinal fluids”

 

                 

                  “Can it think, as a man thinks?”

                “No. It is man in body only, the pig brains which we have inserted are of a more simple make-up and easier to transplant. But pigs are intelligent, for the animal world, and we are confident that they will be able to learn some behaviour to ape human actions and interactions. To copy.”

                “Are they…are they safe?”

                “They are quite, quite docile I promise you”

                “They are indeed remarkable. But a damnation of God’s will!”

                “Those days are over”

                “And you keep them here?”

                “At the moment. But we will eventually need more room. If we are to fill the mills with workers, fill the fields, then we need more. During the week they will work. In the evening they will return to their storage facility.”

                “Where is this facility?”

                “Here at present but we have nowhere near the room required. We need more space for them, and this is where you come in. I think we could use the cellars beneath Bramall Lane”

 

 

                “Absolutely not. That is a football ground!”

                “Charles, it is an empty cricket Ground and not for much longer if you don’t start making money”

                “They aren’t dangerous at all?”

                “Not at all. Look, its simple you provide them with shelter in the evenings when they return from work. In return you will be paid for their upkeep. The mill owners, the factory owners will pay you for their shelter and feed. You can put the money they pay through your books however you like. Call it 'Gate receipts.' Call it what you will to the taxman. If anyone asks questions, then simply open the trapdoors from the cellars and let them up and into the stands when you have games. If you take enough of them, it will easily explain any jump in revenue”

                “But won’t people see these poor wretches for what they are- unthinking zombies?”

                “No. As I have said, we are in the process of injecting the cultures, they will soon, we hope, take on the ability to learn by rote. All you need to do is make sure the terraces are mixed. They will learn from the humans. They will copy. They will imitate. Before you know it, they will learn to clap for themselves when they see a goal or a rouge.”              

                “Are you quite sure?”

                “Quite sure. This deal benefits all of us. The Steel masters, the mill owners, the farmers will have a never ending workforce. And you, you will have the match day crowds that you so crave to keep your fledgling club alive, and you will be paid for your trouble. It’s a no-lose situation.”

 

And for many years, dear Owlstalk readers that is exactly what happened…

 

United, now under the stewardship of Bassett, who withdrew his resignation, built more and more storage space underneath the cricket field. United’s attendances crawled higher and higher and as Dr Stevens honed his skills he was able to make more and more ‘supporters’ to fill the ground and the ailing grounds’ finances were helped hugely as the Club was paid for this ‘service’.

They weren’t of course, in the same League as The Wednesday who were getting five figure gates through the doors at The Grove. But they were getting two or three thousand of the zombies up from the cellars and into the stands on a matchday. 

 

When Dr Stevens (by now a Professor) took on an assistant in 1894 he was able to double his productivity which is shown by United attendances records for that period jumping from a 2,500 average to just over 8,500 in just 7 months. 

 

 

By the time ten years had passed on the clock and the country had dawned the arrival of the 1900’s United’s gates were really rocketing. But noticeably there was a change in the docile behaviours of the shadow walkers who lived at the ground and it proved a concern.

 

To find out what happened we shall now look at a diary entry found in the University library Vaults...

 

 

Diary of Norma Pinson, Head of Secretariat,  Medical School, November 12th 1910

 

There was quite a commotion this evening at work. I was just packing up my belongings ready to get the tram as I had arranged to meet my friend Mavis and do some early Christmas shopping. Though I was worried we might not have time as we'd need to get home before the snow worsened. It was just as I was clearing my desk  when a man came fair bursting through the doors of the School and demanded to see The Professor.

I told him he couldn’t without an appointment, but he barged right past me!  I chased him down the corridor and when he burst into the Professor’s office I managed to squeeze past him and assure the Professor  that the man had barged his way past me and that I had tried to stop him.

       “It’s ok Norma,” said the Professor waving me away “you get yourself off home”.

And I was going to go. I swear.  But I couldn’t help but be curious as to why this man had barged in. My mother always said I was a nosey parker, and I thought of her saying that as I pressed my ear to the door. It was an odd thing I heard, and I understood none of it, but can recall it as clear as day. 

 

                “What in God’s name have you done!” said the man who had barged in. 

                “Calm down, calm down.” I heard Prof Stevens say to him. I could imagine his face he was such great man, such a relaxed way about him. Which is more than could be said of his visitor.

                “I will not calm down!” raged the visitor.

                “What is wrong, Charles?” said Prof Stevens

                “What’s wrong! What’s wrong! I’ll tell you what’s wrong. They’re different. The new batch. They’re different. They’re aggressive. They won’t go back in their bunkers after the games. We can’t load them on the trucks to go to work in the morning. They’re argumentative, even though nothing they grunt is comprehensible to the human ear, a chap knows when he’s being goaded..”

                “Hmmm”

                “Hmmm? Bloody Hmmm!  I’ll tell you another thing. They keep taking their bloody shoes off and waving them around and throwing them”

                “Ah”

                “Ah’. Bloody “Ah”. Is that all you can say man!”

 

There was a silence for a moment and I did wonder if they had heard me at the door. But then the Professors voice could be heard. Slow. Calm. Measured.

                “Charles, we have had to make some slight changes to the formula.”     

                “But Why? Things have been ticking over very well. You cannot just change things. You’re going too far.  These docile beasts were perfect. Why change it, are you becoming a megalomaniac? Has this work given you a God complex? It was all working fine. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to report you before this gets out of hand. I should never have got involved in the first place. And I don’t mean the local Police, Stevens. I mean the very top”

                “Higher than the local constabulary, be my guest. Higher than the Home Secretary, be my guest”

                “The Home Secretary- Churchill? Are you suggesting he knows what you are…”

                “And Asquith”

                “The Prime Minister?!”

                “Correct.”

                “But how… why… what on Earth is going on, why would they know what’s...”    

                “The storm clouds gather , Charles. Across central Europe the skies are dark and a storm is coming. A storm of the like this world has never seen before. The very gates of hell will open and the fan flames of that pit will destroy half of the world as we know it. It’s coming soon. A war. A great War , the biggest conflict this world has ever seen. Europe is a tinder box.  There will be a trigger point. And then the skies will turn black and we must be ready. That is why the Prime Minister knows what we do here. ”

                “What have you done?”

                “Nothing more than I have been asked to do by my country to help to save the realm, and to save the men of the realm.”

                “What?”              

                “We are going to need an army of millions. And we need it soon. We need a War machine”

                “But what have you…”

                “Wincobank Hill”

                “Wincobank Hill..what the devil are you babbling on about?..”

 

               “The Brigantes. Fighting savages. They held the hill for years.  A long dead race of course, but at one time as fearsome and terrifying band a anyone has seen. Savages, barefooted savages”

                “The shoes off...”

                “Yes. The shoes off.”

                “But how…why…”

                “Did you know the Briganti kept the Army of the great Roman General Constantine at bay for nearly ten years with their raids?”

                “What has that got to do with my zombie supporters?”

                “We have had to change the method. We managed to use blood samples that had been preserved in the shale on the hill. Of course we couldn’t make them pure, we didn’t have enough, we have mixed that blood with the porcine blood that we have been using to bring the dead back to life”

                “You idiot, you bloody idiot. Do you know what you have done!?”

                “I know exactly what I have done; I have created an army of fighting pigs in human form. They will help us defeat the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Ottomans to boot…..and the best bit, there will be no loss of human life. My zombies will fill the army. I’m saving the lives of millions of innocent men, don’t you see?”

                “Very honourable, but it won’t work”

                “Why not?”

                “Because they have escaped”

                “Escaped?!”

                “Escaped, used their truffle finding noses to locate the nearest sewer pipe and they have dug their way out of the bunkers below the lane. We’ve found the exit hole about a mile away at Heeley.”

                “We must find them! They must be rounded up!”

                “We have no chance. From a distance they look half normal. There are 500,000 people in this City. The task is too great.”

                “Oh my dear God!”

                “What?”

                “I’ve just remembered.

                “Spit it out man!”

                “Oh Charles, in order that we could speed up the process and further boost the violent nature of the Briganti cells we implanted in them, we had to reactivate the serotonin and testosterone levels.”

                “In English man!”

                “We reactivated their reproductive organs”

                “What the hell are you saying here, that…that, they could….”

                “Yes Charles. They could breed.”

                “Good God! But wait, they’re all male….things…male…zombies”

                “But they could mate…. with normal human women folk”

                “Professor, that is preposterous, no woman in her right mind would copulate with a living dead monster, a pig brained, Godless beast, a zombie”

                “None in their right mind, no. But there are thousands of starving women in this town, out on the streets, the brain damaged women stunted by the cholera, the destitute, the desperate, the drunks and the whores.  Women of no moral standing. If they were to mate with these....these... beasts…”

 

 

“But…my God! What would the offspring even be?”

 

I was shocked; I’d never heard the Professor talk like this before. I bent down, and I’m ashamed to say, I spied through the key hole. I saw the Professor drop his head into his hands and his head start to shake. He was weeping! 

 

      “Oh Father in Heaven, what have I done” he said “that my monsters from the grave, my abominations, those soulless wretches, those abortions to the human spirit may breed amongst us, with us and create their own terrible new breed, each his own Prometheus to a new species, a living strain of pig cultured monstrosity in human form. Fresh life, a fresh alien life form, a new Adam created in the very flames of Hell itself. A pupae of a million horrid tomorrows for all of us, and a slur, a sin, against nature itself.”

 

Well. I was getting scared. I’d never seen a man cry before and it fair put me about. So I hurried back to my desk and put on my coat and went out into the winter night to go and meet Mavis and left those two to their horrid chat.  What I’d heard put the shivers right up me and I decided there and then I’d never go back. I'd find another job. 

 

 

And now dear Owlstalk reader, The final piece of historical evidence we shall look at today is the final journal entry of Bertrand Bassett -:

 

Diary of Bertrand Bassett , 21^st of December 1937

 

“….and know this.  That as I rot in this home, and draw my final breath, I take with me forever the hauntings of what we did. Myself and my former master, Mr Clegg who died last year. And of poor Professor Stevens who took his own life those 5 years ago. I often wonder if he’d have been classed a hero if the beasts hadn’t escaped and he’d been able to send them to the Great War. We will never know now though, I will meet my maker and take the punishment I deserve, but I leave a warning to you all. 

All you men and women of Sheffield.  Beware! For they, our greatest sin, walk amongst us.

An abomination against evolution. Every day on every street they will walk by you.

But you shall know them, for they are scarred by their own creation.

Dead soulless eyes, swollen bellies a left over from the pig-bellies, they will swill down any drink infront of them, their eyes alive like they are back in the trough.  

Some will carry the mutilations, the throwbacks genes.  Aye, some will have cloven feet. The women maybe the size of pregnant sows, some will even have fingers like penises.

Beware them my sons and daughters of Sheffield. Beware the grotesque creatures we left to live amongst you.

 

 

So there we go. The story of how Sheffield's fourth club was rescued from the brink of closure early in its infancy, and why we are still playing them today when they should have gone down before the Titanic.

Hideous but true. 

Take care out there today folks.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Game

 

Team news - :  Wilder-beast plays a 3-5-2

 

 

Midfield will be the key battle ground and I suspect a recall for Wallace to link up with Hunt. For Wednesdays best chance will surely come in overloading their wing-backs. 

 

 

 

 

 

COME ON WEDNESDAY!

 

NB- Please do not quote in full!

Edited November 4, 2021 by Lord Snooty
Re-attaching broken picture links

[s73owl]

Top work Snooty, took some reading but top work non the less 2-0 to the mighty owls WAWAW 

[S36 OWL]

Fantastic OMDT Mi`lord 

 

Brilliant work , take a bow 

[darklord]

My first derby,  40 years in the making. 

 

We are going to smash those grubby little twats. 

It will be like the Knights of Camelot charging down  Jeremy Kyle viewers. It will be glorious.

[foxowl]

You two read that in 3 minutes.. 

 

[Guest Copthorneowl]

Don't believe for a minute s36 and s73 above have read this full thread I'm a third of the way through its brilliant but I'm afraid it's got to be bed and I'll read it all tomoz.

 

Well done Snooty great dedication

[robowl4life]

I love the OMDT and I appreciate the effort put in but f00k reading all that in one go. 

Let's f00kin have it!!! C'moooooon Wednesday!!!!! 

UTO FTB WAWAW TCIO WTID UTO

[offalyowl]

Great read snoot and great work, suspect a 3-1 win but don't care once we beat them pigs

uto 

[WC1Owl]

Gtfi 

[sagesse]

Magnificent, Sir.  Come on Wednesday!!!

[foxowl]

Absolutely brilliant MDT...

This is a thing of beauty..

This will and should go down as one of the best match day threads ever. 

Congratulations lord snooty on all the effort and research you have put into this thread.

 

WAWAW

[alanharper]

What's more impressive is that he nearly forgot to do it and only started typing it at ten to twelve. 

[Taximark]

Fantastic Lordy.

Wednesday to win 4-0

[foxowl]

1 minute ago, alanharper said:

What's more impressive is that he nearly forgot to do it and only started typing it at ten to twelve. 

Jesus dose he live up stocksbridge (ten fingers on one hand and all that) 

[Spencerowl]

Blimey well done - hell of a read 

Edited September 23, 2017 by Spencerowl

[WalthamOwl]

That OP is bloody brilliant. Loved reading it. Come on Wednesday!!!!!!! Smash these dirty inbred scum. 

[foxowl]

Just now, Spencerowl said:

Why? 

Our lass is cooking me a bacon butty for supper 

[33]

Cracking OMDT Mi' Lud.

So glad you were able to adopt brevity into your lyrical waxing.

 

5-1 

UTO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Edited September 23, 2017 by 33
tyop

[Eastleigh Owl]

FFS Snooty, I'm not reading all that toneet, i'll come back and read it after we've stuffed the porkers today, well done though, great effort.

[Guest Wonder Spaniel]

Top work My Lord!

Respect them for what they are. Then beat them! Beat them to every ball, every header, every 50:50, every tackle. Just beat them! 

UTO