Well, what can you say? An absolutely shambolic performance, an atmosphere resembling a library during a power cut, and the rather generous outcome of somehow escaping with a point. Quite how we managed that is a mystery that will probably require a full independent inquiry.
Firstly, let’s address the officials, because apparently one clown show deserves another. Despite our own performance being about as inspiring as a wet weekend in November, tonight’s referee, Mr Duckworth, and the assistant nearest the Billy Wright Stand were absolutely abysmal. Mr Duckworth was so hopeless that, in all honesty, we’d probably have been better off with Vera Duckworth in charge. At least she might have brought a bit of character, common sense and the occasional meaningful contribution to proceedings.
That said, it would be far too convenient to blame the officials for what was, in reality, an utterly embarrassing display from our own side. We can criticise the referee all night, but he didn’t pick the team, devise the tactics or instruct our players to move around the pitch with all the urgency of pensioners queuing at the post office.
Now, onto the main problem: this manager.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: this manager needs to go. Now. I previously predicted that he wouldn’t still be here by the time the advent calendars start being opened, and nothing I’ve witnessed tonight has given me even the slightest reason to reconsider. If anything, I’m beginning to wonder whether I was being far too generous with that prediction.
He looks completely out of his depth, the football is dreadful, the performances are getting harder to defend, and the whole thing is becoming an increasingly painful exercise in watching a man stubbornly attempt to prove that doing the same thing repeatedly will somehow produce a different result.
Spoiler alert: it won’t, you useless muppet.
The team’s lethargic, uninspiring and utterly lifeless approach killed any atmosphere that might have existed. I genuinely think half the South Bank have abandoned singing and taken up knitting. 🧶 At least knitting produces something useful, whereas watching this lot for 90 minutes appears to produce nothing but frustration, despair and an overwhelming urge to take up literally any other hobby.
I’m struggling to find a single positive from tonight. And believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve searched harder for positives than our players searched for a forward pass.
The bigger picture, however, is far more concerning.
Rumours continue to circulate that failure to secure promotion would leave us in financial and operational 💩 Street. If there is any truth to those rumours, then I would strongly suggest that everyone involved in the club away from the playing staff dusts off their CV, updates their LinkedIn profile and starts looking for alternative employment.
Because if promotion is genuinely the difference between keeping this club afloat and watching the whole operation unravel, then how on earth have we allowed ourselves to arrive at this position?
This is not a sudden disaster that has appeared out of nowhere. It is the consequence of repeated poor decisions, questionable recruitment, a staggering lack of foresight and an ownership that seems increasingly disconnected from the reality of what this football club means to its supporters.
Wolves is rotten from top to bottom, and the rot will continue until Fosun finally decide that enough is enough.
For Nathan Shi to publicly talk about going in heavy, only for us to reach October with zero recognised strikers, is nothing short of extraordinary incompetence. You genuinely couldn’t make it up. We were apparently going to attack the transfer market with the force of a military invasion, only to turn up with an empty wallet, no ammunition and nobody capable of leading the line.
What exactly was the plan? Hope that the opposition politely allows us to score? Pray that one of our midfielders accidentally wanders into the penalty area? Perhaps we were waiting for a striker to materialise through some sort of Fosun-sponsored miracle?
It is beyond embarrassing.
And then, to compound this masterclass in inept ownership, we have a manager who appears to have absolutely no idea how to get the best out of the players available to him. Although, to be fair, it must be difficult to get the best out of a squad when the people above you have apparently decided that having a recognised striker is an optional extra.
The ownership is failing us. The recruitment is failing us. The management is failing us. And, ultimately, the supporters are left paying good money to watch a football club that seems determined to test just how much disappointment a human being can tolerate before finally snapping.
How much more are we expected to accept?
At the start of this season, I set myself the goal of attending every single match. Every one. Home and away, through thick and thin. I wanted to back the team, support the club and play my part as a supporter.
And yet, we’re barely into the season and I’m already struggling BIG TIME.
Let that sink in.
A supporter who actively wanted to attend every match is already questioning whether they can face doing so. Not because supporting Wolves should be easy, not because we should expect to win every game, and certainly not because we’re entitled to instant success.
But because there is a difference between supporting a team through difficult times and being expected to tolerate an endless procession of avoidable incompetence.
We can accept losing when the players give everything. We can accept rebuilding when there is a coherent plan. We can accept setbacks when there is evidence that lessons are being learned.
What we cannot keep accepting is a club that appears to have no clear direction, no credible strategy and no meaningful urgency to put things right.
Loyalty is not a blank cheque. Passion is not an unlimited subscription to misery. And the supporters who turn up week after week deserve considerably more than corporate soundbites, excuses and 90 minutes of football that makes you question every life decision that brought you to the stadium.
So here we are again. Another dreadful performance. Another evening of frustration. Another reminder that the problems at this club extend far beyond the touchline.
Fosun, the message could not be clearer.
Get a grip of this football club. Make the decisions that need to be made. Take responsibility for the mess that has developed under your ownership.
And if you no longer have the ambition, the appetite or the ability to run Wolverhampton Wanderers properly, then do the decent thing.
SELL UP. GET OUT OF OUR CLUB.
And while you’re at it, take this manager with you.
Because Wolves supporters deserve better. The club deserves better. And those of us who have invested our time, money, loyalty and emotional wellbeing into this football club deserve far better than the absolute circus we are currently witnessing.
I didn’t fall in love with Wolves to spend my evenings watching a team play football like they’ve all been forced to attend a disciplinary meeting.
Enough is enough. Fosun out. Manager out. And for the love of everything gold and black, somebody at this football club please wake up before there’s nothing left to save.
Completely agree. Munetsi fine if you are up against it, and need someone who likes a challenge. But against Portsmouth, we were always going to have more possession, and needed ball players who could move the ball quickly with quality passing etc; and that is definitely not Munetsi l!
Well, what can you say? An absolutely shambolic performance, an atmosphere resembling a library during a power cut, and the rather generous outcome of somehow escaping with a point. Quite how we managed that is a mystery that will probably require a full independent inquiry.
Firstly, let’s address the officials, because apparently one clown show deserves another. Despite our own performance being about as inspiring as a wet weekend in November, tonight’s referee, Mr Duckworth, and the assistant nearest the Billy Wright Stand were absolutely abysmal. Mr Duckworth was so hopeless that, in all honesty, we’d probably have been better off with Vera Duckworth in charge. At least she might have brought a bit of character, common sense and the occasional meaningful contribution to proceedings.
That said, it would be far too convenient to blame the officials for what was, in reality, an utterly embarrassing display from our own side. We can criticise the referee all night, but he didn’t pick the team, devise the tactics or instruct our players to move around the pitch with all the urgency of pensioners queuing at the post office.
Now, onto the main problem: this manager.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: this manager needs to go. Now. I previously predicted that he wouldn’t still be here by the time the advent calendars start being opened, and nothing I’ve witnessed tonight has given me even the slightest reason to reconsider. If anything, I’m beginning to wonder whether I was being far too generous with that prediction.
He looks completely out of his depth, the football is dreadful, the performances are getting harder to defend, and the whole thing is becoming an increasingly painful exercise in watching a man stubbornly attempt to prove that doing the same thing repeatedly will somehow produce a different result.
Spoiler alert: it won’t, you useless muppet.
The team’s lethargic, uninspiring and utterly lifeless approach killed any atmosphere that might have existed. I genuinely think half the South Bank have abandoned singing and taken up knitting. 🧶 At least knitting produces something useful, whereas watching this lot for 90 minutes appears to produce nothing but frustration, despair and an overwhelming urge to take up literally any other hobby.
I’m struggling to find a single positive from tonight. And believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve searched harder for positives than our players searched for a forward pass.
The bigger picture, however, is far more concerning.
Rumours continue to circulate that failure to secure promotion would leave us in financial and operational 💩 Street. If there is any truth to those rumours, then I would strongly suggest that everyone involved in the club away from the playing staff dusts off their CV, updates their LinkedIn profile and starts looking for alternative employment.
Because if promotion is genuinely the difference between keeping this club afloat and watching the whole operation unravel, then how on earth have we allowed ourselves to arrive at this position?
This is not a sudden disaster that has appeared out of nowhere. It is the consequence of repeated poor decisions, questionable recruitment, a staggering lack of foresight and an ownership that seems increasingly disconnected from the reality of what this football club means to its supporters.
Wolves is rotten from top to bottom, and the rot will continue until Fosun finally decide that enough is enough.
For Nathan Shi to publicly talk about going in heavy, only for us to reach October with zero recognised strikers, is nothing short of extraordinary incompetence. You genuinely couldn’t make it up. We were apparently going to attack the transfer market with the force of a military invasion, only to turn up with an empty wallet, no ammunition and nobody capable of leading the line.
What exactly was the plan? Hope that the opposition politely allows us to score? Pray that one of our midfielders accidentally wanders into the penalty area? Perhaps we were waiting for a striker to materialise through some sort of Fosun-sponsored miracle?
It is beyond embarrassing.
And then, to compound this masterclass in inept ownership, we have a manager who appears to have absolutely no idea how to get the best out of the players available to him. Although, to be fair, it must be difficult to get the best out of a squad when the people above you have apparently decided that having a recognised striker is an optional extra.
The ownership is failing us. The recruitment is failing us. The management is failing us. And, ultimately, the supporters are left paying good money to watch a football club that seems determined to test just how much disappointment a human being can tolerate before finally snapping.
How much more are we expected to accept?
At the start of this season, I set myself the goal of attending every single match. Every one. Home and away, through thick and thin. I wanted to back the team, support the club and play my part as a supporter.
And yet, we’re barely into the season and I’m already struggling BIG TIME.
Let that sink in.
A supporter who actively wanted to attend every match is already questioning whether they can face doing so. Not because supporting Wolves should be easy, not because we should expect to win every game, and certainly not because we’re entitled to instant success.
But because there is a difference between supporting a team through difficult times and being expected to tolerate an endless procession of avoidable incompetence.
We can accept losing when the players give everything. We can accept rebuilding when there is a coherent plan. We can accept setbacks when there is evidence that lessons are being learned.
What we cannot keep accepting is a club that appears to have no clear direction, no credible strategy and no meaningful urgency to put things right.
Loyalty is not a blank cheque. Passion is not an unlimited subscription to misery. And the supporters who turn up week after week deserve considerably more than corporate soundbites, excuses and 90 minutes of football that makes you question every life decision that brought you to the stadium.
So here we are again. Another dreadful performance. Another evening of frustration. Another reminder that the problems at this club extend far beyond the touchline.
Fosun, the message could not be clearer.
Get a grip of this football club. Make the decisions that need to be made. Take responsibility for the mess that has developed under your ownership.
And if you no longer have the ambition, the appetite or the ability to run Wolverhampton Wanderers properly, then do the decent thing.
SELL UP. GET OUT OF OUR CLUB.
And while you’re at it, take this manager with you.
Because Wolves supporters deserve better. The club deserves better. And those of us who have invested our time, money, loyalty and emotional wellbeing into this football club deserve far better than the absolute circus we are currently witnessing.
I didn’t fall in love with Wolves to spend my evenings watching a team play football like they’ve all been forced to attend a disciplinary meeting.
Enough is enough. Fosun out. Manager out. And for the love of everything gold and black, somebody at this football club please wake up before there’s nothing left to save.
#FosunOut
#RaisedByWolves
Hi Glenn, very well said, thank you and strait to the heart of every Wolves fan.
Take risks with the selection as well maybe. Munetsi over JJ is caution not risk taking.
Completely agree. Munetsi fine if you are up against it, and need someone who likes a challenge. But against Portsmouth, we were always going to have more possession, and needed ball players who could move the ball quickly with quality passing etc; and that is definitely not Munetsi l!
courage, the ability to control fear and to be willing to deal with something that is dangerous, difficult, or unpleasant:
The players need it and so do we fans.
He still plays Munetsi and Mane. This isn’t the Portuguese league. He looks out his depth.