Nothing is open. Not even Aldi. OK, Morrisons is open. (And it doesn't have an apostrophe, cos I just checked).
A football fan with a team would at this point be salivating over the following things:
* the prospect of a local derby, traditionally the Boxing Day/New Year's Day match-up. Unless you're in the Welsh Prem, in which case your 'local derby' is likely to be a village about 800 miles away or thereabouts, with no public transport and whose pubs are scared to open in case... well. In case they sell lots of beer. Which they always did when Bangor City visited. And the next year they bloody well made sure they did open and put on food. Because the City fans were always, always in good voice and good humour.
* the opportunity to get out of the house, and away from Chrimbo food/games/telly/moidering. Not that these things aren't bloody ace, of course. But it is a chance to compare tales of bad jumpers, coooked-to-a-soup sprouts and turkey that has been in the oven so long it's drier than an Oscar Wilde quip delivered by Will Self who has also recently remembered that all life is entirely pointless on a cosmic scale, and that even as a world-class, world-famous author, his work will also be dust in hundreds of years. Indeed, The Book Of Dave is in part a meditation on this very thing isn't it? Also, I just realised that Will Self looks like my mate Max, who is a top bloke and very happy usually. You probably don't know Max. You should. He's a good lad.
* Moidering with peers. And shouting at referees, half-hearted faux-hatred laced with lovely Christmas pudding puns and the like. I couldn't be arsed finding any, so here's some for kids instead. My favourite was when Bicko, fully-committed to a hugely red-faced howl of anger at the ref, stampeded from the back of the Farrar End to the front and shouted FUCK OFF YOU... TWIT, having lost his thread halfway through and run out of steam somewhat.
(EDIT: Bicko remembers it being the St. Paul's End... but the point still stands).
But I'm not gonna do any of these things today, cause I'm A Man Without A Team aren't I. Cause, let's remind ourselves, the side that finished second in the Welsh Prem last year and should have been in Europe and the Irn Bru Cup, was relegated for these reasons.
I spose that after the relegation, we're awash with local derbies though.
The City team plays Porthmadog today. I've always liked them lot. It's a great awayday, just far enough to get a bit merry and not too far to come home to get... well. Maybe merry, like when we won the league under Nigel Adkins for the first time. It was ace. I seem to remember getting a lift there and back with Sion Sebon, whose ace band were ace.
Port are a good example of a good local club. Nice enough people. Decent little ground, with a shit as fuck mudbath pitch. Bilingual all the way if not Welsh first language. And that is mighty fine say I. Port have quite a few ex Citizens in their ranks including the brilliant Sion Edwards, a Bangor lad who ought to have made it as a pro with Wrexham but was unlucky to be released. Ten years down the line, he's a legend.
But it's not really ringing true, this. It's not right. Sion - and Shaun Cavanagh, for that matter - ought to be in Bangor blue. And Bangor ought to not be in the Cymru Alliance. Cause: the side that finished second in the Welsh Prem last year and should have been in Europe and the Irn Bru Cup, was relegated for these reasons.
And enough of that. But an update, too.
What we've had recently has been a litany of fucking bullshit, to whit:
* There was a claimed 'change of ownership imminent'. Oh, right. Yeah. Except, not according to Companies House, so far anyway.
* the groundsman who has put 20 years' service in and been praised on the awesome quality of his pitches has, according to rumours anyway, not been paid for several months. Other rumours say he's taking legal action. What's not in question is that since he's been away from the club - for whatever reason - the pitch has become awful. Out of the hands of an expert into the hands of amateurs, who know maybe how to drive a big grass cutting machine. But nothing about drainage, remedial pitch work, keeping the pitch as good as possible in the worst of weather etc. There is no reason the groundsman has not been paid. Or, let's see, we haven't been given one anyway.
* This man has become the new commercial manager. I couldn't link to the Bangor City website, because the pitchero subscription has been allowed to run out. Again. (It might work when you click it. If it's been paid). This man didn't last long in the job. It's almost like there's no goodwill amongst local businesses anymore. I wonder why? How puzzling.
These are not the things I want to be thinking about on Boxing Day. The residual muck and shite on the shoes of a couple of terrible years.
I'm off to slump in front of the telly, drinking dregs of wine leftovers and chomping my way through whatever crap's left over from yesterday. It's all I've got left.
Maybe they'll go bust in 2019 eh.
Peace and love of the season to most men. But not all. There are some who can fuck right off.
PS: Kudos to Caernarfon Town FC. Today they're doing a collection before the game for a local family whose house was burgled before Chrimbo. The Cofis are above Bangor City in the league structure for the first time ever - and morally, about a galaxy above. Selah.
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