Post Match #8 DEM PIGS

The Steel City Derby. One club representing the interests of the City of Sheffield, the other representing the interests of a dolphin killing maniac and a bit of scrubland somewhere between Barnsley and Walkley.

I’ll get to the football, but can we please pause for a moment to reflect on the disgusting practices upheld by the Wednesday Chairman, DJ Chasnore, for which God will judge him harshly:


United might like tuna, but DEM BLADES hate fucking infusions. Anyhow, to the issue at hand.


“My players die to me.”

That is what  Ricardo Carvahlo claimed in the lead-up to the Derby. I’m sure the players are dead to him now as he spends his final weeks at Hillsborough hiding behind industrial tins of no drain tuna, all the while the Dolphin Killer is scouring LinkedIn for another manager with another massaged CV.

But on Sunday morning, all was to play for.  The game drew close, the comments about our ‘tin pot side’ diffused into nothingness like the Cornmeal-Feed-Farts from DEM SNIVLIN PIGGY breakfasts. Those comments like ‘not one player from your starting eleven would get into ours,’ magically lept off the page and the game was actually played on a football pitch.


They laughed, they bounced and they sang. I left the Bouncy Castle fun of a 10th birthday party to attend the Steel City Derby and I was nervous. DEM PIGS were convinced that the match would play out on paper and, as I checked my phone and looked at team sheet, I did find myself a little worried.

South Yorkshire Police might have better allocated their time to requesting the dolphin killing chairman to give the rust-bucket a lick of paint, instead of forcing a proportion of DEM BLADES to miss the opening five minutes and the first goal. The nerves grew and I inhaled the heavy flakes of rust that hung in noxious clouds above the away contingent and, in my rush to find my seat, I did miss Fleck’s opener.

Before the match, I’d laughed at the porky jibes levelled at Leon Clarke, “He wasn’t good enough for us way back when – how is that flop still playing at championship level?”  It was a question that Leon Clarke answered within fifteen minutes as the MASSIVE priced defenders forgot how to defend.

At 0-2 it must be said that DEM PIGS played themselves back into the game with quality and resilience making it all the sweeter in those delectable moments after they had equalised. Hillsborough bounced up and down,  arrhythmic and pathetic and DEM PIGS chanted as if they had taken the lead when in reality they had only equalised.

Then this happened.

Chaos ensued. The bouncing stopped and the pork were left scratching their heads. It all happened in slowest of super-slo-mo: Owls mascots crying, aggressive seventeen-year-old Ultra-pigs made wanker motions, Tango was in the bar trying to order his namesake drink but they only had Fanta and he cried the heavy tears of a broken man, Carlos Carvalywhore puffed out his cheeks and then time sped up again.

The bouncing replaced with desperation only for tin-pot Leon Clarke to turn the rusting sty into a makeshift slaughterhouse, leaving DEM BLADES to dine out on the sweetest of sweet victories.

What DEM BLADES could’ve been treated to.

DEM BLADES only watched the Derby to see DEM PIGS. We waited with baited breath for Barry Bannan to run rings around us. But he was more Banana in Pyjamas and only showed promise when the Sky Sports Camera’s focused on a close-up that revealed his wedding band. Other than that, he looked a reasonable player and showed a similar level of commitment to DEM PIGS fans who flocked out of the sty before the final whistle.

We were treated to two performances worthy of gracing any Southern Counties East Football League match. Jack Hunt showed the poise and movement of a pig stuck in the mud as he was embarrassed by David Brooks.

But if Hunt was bad, Sound of Music Star Just Van Trapp was a schadenfreude delight. Sixteen going on seventeen, Van Trapp’s lack of strength and passion were under the spotlight.  The sight of his writhing body as Duffy turned one way and then the other was the limber dancing of Beyonce or of any similar Pop Tart that might spring to mind; Katy Perry, Britney Spears, Adele. He looked as if he wanted to be swallowed up whole, but unfortunately for him, Tango was rushing out as fast as his trotters could carry him.

Sorry DEM PIGS but Just Van Trapp is Just Very Shit.


The seven hills of Sheffield are alive with DEM BLADES. It’s more Greasy Chip Butty than the Sound of Music and less Do-Re-Mi than Do-Dem-Pigs-know-how-big-dat-gap-is. A true delight.

One moment of quick-wittedness typified the afternoon. Jack Hunt, whose name has a delightful rhyming ring that I shan’t explore, will be violently rocking in a corner somewhere replaying and replaying the moment when David Brooks, after the game, said: “remember how I mugged you off pal? If you don’t, I’ll DM you, you looked a reyt mug.”

 To quote me:

DEM PIGS cannot say ‘we showed no heart’ or ‘we had a weak starting eleven.’ They had a full-strength line-up and we beat them despite their resilience and perseverance and grit. The city is ours because we were better, not because we were lucky and that made every pint taste twice as sweet.

Man of the Match

Leon Clarke. (Fuck, it wasn’t Coutts).

I do understand that Brooks was quality and showed the balance and touch that will eventually make him a star, but Leon Clarke absolutely dominated their defenders – not bad for a tin-pot player.


So long. Farewell. Aufiedsen. Goodnight.








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