Rivers

Thank you for all the kind messages. Sadly, Dad has gone. In the early hours of the morning, with Mum by his side. I don't want to take up any more of the thread with sadness, but thought you would want to know. We've known he was going for so long, and the last few weeks have been a rapid decline, but the hardest thing to take, is after cheating death for eleven years, he couldn't hang on, for just one more week. What a way to go that would've been. You can just wait the fuck right there Mr. Reaper, until I've watched us smash these skate bastards one last time, and only then -- will I be ready! Yet it was not to be. Sorry for the melancholic interlude. Focusing back onto the topic itself, there is something else I have found to be quite special about our Derby with these filthy fish fucking cunts. There is a kind of "possessiveness" about it that has developed over the years. With Bournemouth and Brighton both trying to stoke their own competative rivalries with us in recent times, in particular the Cherries, seeming almost desperate for us to hate them as much as their irrational and highly manufactured 'hatred' for us. Yet we wanted none of it. Insisting on our hatred only for the fishy few. As much as we cannot stand them, and vice versa, it is almost a grudging acceptance that the existence of the other somehow actually enhances our own footballing existence. As much as a part of me would have loved to see the cheating cunts get the justice they truly deserved for their temporary ill-gotten past successes, and have gone to the wall -- how much richer are our Saints supporting lives, to experience the indescribable passion and fervour that only the sheer intensity of these special derby games bring about? And the knowledge that (until last week at least) the only times that low-life bottom-feeding scum of a club have been above us in the league system, was due to the sickening trail of "collateral damage" left in their wake, makes victory even sweeter. As they gleefuly burned their way through the the seedy coffers of the loan shark and russian mafia, pissed away the life savings of those poor Lithuanian pensioners, dipped into the Public Purse to the tune of a few hundred million for written off taxes and bad debts like it was their own private equity fund; and of course not to forget the legacy of all those poor maimed African kids from Arcadi Gaydamak's land mines. They didn't give a fuck where all that filthy lucre came from, just so long as they could splash it around care free on players they could never afford, to get some shiny tat they didn't deserve into the trophy cabinate. Filthy festering cesspit of a club. Cannot wait to smash the fuck out them next Sunday! Bring it on!

This will be a particularly emotional Derby for me. My Dad is sadly close to losing his extremely long and drawn out battle with cancer. His initial diagnosis gave him just four months to live, but eleven years, three heart attacks, triple bypass surgery, and one hip replacement later -- he is still here, fighting. Dad is one tough fucker, and simply refused to die, no matter what the doctors told him. Unfortunately however, even he has limits to his apparent immortality, and his time is fast running out. As a lifelong loyal Saint, from going with his own dad as a kid, to what he called the "glory days" of carnage with Dougal's infamous crew, to raising his own son on this Southampton obsession, the thought of just one more impending battle with the fishy few was extremely tantalizing, even at his grand old age of eighty. "Wheel me down there!" He implored. "I can still take some of the fuckers out!" He has been desperately trying to hold on, for one last dramatic derby day clash with the dirty cheating skate bastards, but despite his enduring will to fight on, his body has begun to shut down, and he is not going to make it. As you would expect from any good father, it was my dear old Dad who instilled my deep-seated seething hatred of p*rtsm*th from an early age, but unfortunately for me, as it happens, not quite early enough. I had never really seen my Dad truly angry before. Sure, sometimes things might occasionally mildly piss him off, but he had never once properly lost his temper with me. Even if I'd done something particularly naughty as a child, he would always chastise me with a calm and respectful authority, treating me as an intelligent human being, by gently explaining the error of my ways, and how he expected me to behave differently in future. He was an excellent father. But this time was different, as my sin was apparently a particularly cardinal one. It was a late Saturday afternoon, when I was around eight years old. We had Season tickets at The Dell in the West Stand, right next to the old Away fans cage. But couldn't travel far away due to another of Dad's health issues. Anyway, Dad was outside working on his car, listening to Saints away on his car radio. I was in my room, and also listening to the end of the match on Solent. As was often the way, our matches seemed to always finish just before p*mpey's, and Solent Sport would switch over to the last few minutes of their game when Saints has finished. Up until this point, having been well raised to support my local team, and with Solent seeming to want both sides to do well, I also naively liked all our local teams to win. I knew Dad had no love for the skates, but to date, had never really got into why. But I was about to find out! Just as my Dad was (unknown to me) coming into my room to share the joy of a Saints away win with me, p*mpey scored a late winner, and I jumped up and cheered! Needless to say, he went absolutely apoplectic! Ranting and raving for an eternity, just like this little guy! --> I had never been so scared! He completely lost his rag. That was the beginning of my severe education on all the numerous reasons as to why "no son of mine will EVER support that fucking shite down the road!" He had many pearls of wisdom to share. Such as, "god" putting p*rtsm*uth on an island for very good reasons, so as its six fingered sister fucking inbreds were unable to contaminate the rest of the country -- and it being "man's greatest sin" to have connected it to the mainland. During our very important educational talk, it was also impressed upon me, that if such a place as Hell existed, and I was ever caught celebrating a p*rtsm*uth goal again, he would do everything in his power to find its location, and "cast me into the Lake of Fire his fucking-self!" I also learned that he could never really take the bible too seriously, due to the fact that if "God" had really wrote it himself -- there was no way in hell that "Thou Shalt Not Support P*rtsm*uth" would not have made it into the list of Ten Commandments. And the first of them at that! Suffice it to say, I learned my lessons very well, and never committed such a heinous sin again. A healthy bit of happy reminiscing, at such a sad time is ultimately good for the soul. But, let there be no doubt in any Saints player's mind, that this derby really is serious business. My Dad is so weak now, that he is no longer even able to speak. And yet, yesterday, when he still just about could, and I asked him if there was anything we could do for him, these were the very last words that he spoke: "We... have to... (he paused to gather his last reserves of energy to speak) beat those........ fish fucking cunts!!!" That is how much this game means. Of all the things he could have chosen to use his vitally important last words to say, dear old Dad's dying wish, was that we smash these dirty, cheating, fish-fucking skate bastards, one last time, for him! It is not "just a football match." It is not about football. It is not even just a derby or a rivalry. It is about so much more than that. It is intense, deep-seated inter-city hatred, and full on Tribal Warfare! And -- in the immortal last words of my dying father... We simply have to beat these fish-fucking cunts!!!

Scarecrow KWP Bednarek THB LTC Charles Alcaraz Downes A Armstrong Adams Fraser I just feel that a scarecrow would offer us a lot more presence in goal than Bazunu, and the arms could be reenforced with broomsticks, which might have more chance of keeping the ball out of our net than Gav's crisp packets. At Left Back, my thinking is that by replacing Manning with a Large Traffic Cone, we could be confident it would not keep diving in, and would at least hold its position and be where it is supposed to be on the pitch.

Oh, he's finally been announced then. Outstanding. Sorry for the delayed welcome Russell, but if I'd held my breath any longer I'd be fucking dead. Obviously somewhat of a "meh" appointment at first glance, but let's be clear about something, it is a world away from the obvious clusterfuck of appointing Nathan fucking Jones as your masterstroke of genius to get you out of a Premier League relegation dogfight. Sure, you look at this, and quite rightfully conclude there are a number of more experienced and potentially more exciting "names" we could have looked to and hopefully attracted to a Club of our stature, with a large budget for an immediate promotion push. And of course, knowing us, and especially Sport Replublic's previous exemplary judgement where it comes to identifying the right manager for the right time, it could just as likely end in disaster. It's The Southampton Way, and we're extremely relaxed about it. But, this doesn't quite have the same clearly obvious "OH MY FUCKING GOD, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING YOU STUPID CUNTS!?!?!" vibe about it that Mad Nate had. With the right departures and investments, it could actually work out. Russell Martin enjoyed a much higher profile football career than our last no mark lower league appointment, and we are after all, a Champioship Club ourselves now, so our own stock has fallen, especially with the manner of our Premier League demise. A lot of of our preferred candidates could very well have take one look a Sport Republic and used someone else's bargepole to distance themselves from us as quickly as possible. I like to see us playing proper possession football. Not knocking it around interminably at the back, but rather, high intensity probing keep ball in the opposition's half, penning them in, and surgically carving them open when the time is right. Hopefully, Russell Martin will bring more of the latter. At any rate, until our first defeat, he'll have my full and unequivocal support.

Seemingly you do James, so why don't you do it yourself? You can start with me. I was one of Ruben's biggest supporters early in his tenure. After the almighty clusterfuck of Mad Nate Jones, we were all desperate for change. Anyone but Jones was the general feeling on here. When Ruben first took charge, he was like a breath of fresh air through the Club. He had some charisma about him, the players clearly wanted him, and two wins from his first three games brought a feeling of positivity and hope where there had been none for so long. I believed and hoped that this newfound feelgood factor could inspire us to at least make a go of fighting against relegation. It was my mistake. Sadly, after a long and brave battle against serious illness, (I hope I am wrong again, and you can give me my own special Mr. Men badge) it is looking possible that this disgusting debacle of a season could be my dear old Dad's last experience of watching our beloved Saints together. I was desperate for such a courageous man's last memories of our team to not be of these pathetic bottlejobs dragging us down without a whimper. For a short while, Ruben Selles gave me that hope. When he first took over he told us his first priority was to make us harder to beat. Initially, he made good progress on that. He also said he didn't want to change too much too soon, so we'd start off reverting to Ralph's system, as it was something the players already knew. For a small handful of games, it sort of worked. We were pressing more intelligently, and making more of a fight of games. Then we got smashed by Villa, and it all fell apart. From that point on, Ruben looked like the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights. And that is where his downfall truly took hold. At this point, he had to jettison dabbling with the old Ralphball system. It was already a busted flush. He absolutely had to be his own man from here on, and implement his own ideas. He needed to live or die by his own philosophy, but he essentially bottled it, and continued to hide behind "the playbook." That clearly lost the confidence of the players, and we never recovered. There were still moments of false hope to prolong the agony, but the moment Selles subbed off Romeo Lavia for Diallo in the 88th minute and threw a 3-1 lead at Arsenal, was the point he lost me completely, and I could delude myself no longer. We were fucked. Despite his obvious faults and mistakes along the way, Ruben was clearly a good guy, and some of the nastiness he got pelted with on here was over the top. He was dropped in at the deep end of a Premier League relegation dogfight, with no previous experience, and was always on a hiding to nothing. If he can recover from the severe battering his confidence in himself will have taken from this trainwreck of a season, then like others, I still think there's a fair chance for him to carve out a decent managerial career for himself. If he drops down the pecking order and builds himself up again from a more appropriate level, where the media glare is not so sharp and the pressures less intense. I for one thank Ruben for his efforts and wish his all the best for his future. Ultimately, he just was not good enough here, but our relegation is not on Ruben. That dishonour lies firmly at the feet of Rasmus The Deluded Revolutionary, and the fucking gutless bunch of cunts who pissed about in our shitty white with a little bit of red shirts all season. This Club can't even put together a half decent kit anymore, let alone assemble a squad fit to wear the monstrosities. So fill ya boots James. Have a good old laugh at my expense. Or maybe grow up, and choose to be better than that mush.

Absolutely devasted. The word deflated was created for this moment. If there is any kind of fate or destiny which is governing such things, then you are a massive cunt.

No two ways about it. This is an absolutely massive game for us. Yours sincerely, Captain Obvious. Win this, and we are out of the relegation zone, for the first time since November. The psychological boost for everyone connected with the Club will be immense. Our fate would be back in our own hands, and if we can follow it up with at least a point from Spurs, we go to West Ham brimming with confidence, and a chance to really lift ourselves up above the pack, whilst piling the pressure on the others. We've been playing under that pressure for so long now. It acts as a great weight upon our performances. If it can be released, and we can go into the last few games playing without fear, and St. Mary's have that miserable cloud of nervous energy dissipate, we will give ourselves every chance of getting out of this mess. Could very well be one of the most significant weeks in our recent history, and in front of a full house. For all the right reasons, let's make it a week that lives long in the memory.

Ruben said when he first came in as Manager, that his first priority was to stabilise us at the back, stop the flow of goals against, and make us more difficult to beat. He has done exactly what he said he was going to do. Four Premier League games, three clean sheets, two wins and a draw. We have become more organised as a unit, and whilst there are still times where we lack composure under pressure, there is clearly a much improved structural framework around which our defense is built. We are defefending from the front with a lot more cohesion (something else Ruben said early on was important, which we had lacked). We are pressing the ball more intelligently. Choosing the right moments better, and then rather than the constant insane levels of counter-pressing we saw under Ralph that often left us so dangerously exposed, we are tending to collapse back into an organised shape as quickly as possible, to force the opposition to have to try to play around us. That is giving us more time to get back into a compact defensive formation, and it is indeed making us harder to break down. Obviously, this is a work in progress, and we don't do all these things perfectly, all of the time. But the signs of progress are very clear. We can see with our own eyes, through the recent performances on the pitch, a very good idea of just what Ruben has been working on in training during the week. We finally look like a team that do have some kind of an idea what we are supposed to be doing, even if the execution is sometimes let down by the inherent lack of genuinely top flight quality in the squad. For me, after the debacle of being criminally mismanaged by the fittest human being in history, I couldn't really have asked for much more at this stage, given the level of the players available to us. Because of the way we play, with the forwards being our first line of defense, Ruben unfortunately has to freshen the legs up top with earlier changes than we might like, and it is not his fault that the options off the bench in those positions weaken us further in terms of quality. I still cannot possibly with agree with his choice to use the woefully inept Adam Armstrong as one of those substitutes, but I do understand that it is because of his workrate he is selected, to keep the pressing machinery fully fuelled. But, that being my only major critiscism, Ruben's management of our CLub is clearly having a positive effect on the players, and results are having a positive effect on the fans. Keep up the good work Ruben.

Agreed. Just imagine how Bold and Brave our players will feel wearing it. They'll be strolling around Old Trafford unchallenged, singing "We wear what we want, we wear what we waaaaant, we are Southampton, we wear what we want!" Lyanco will let rip with his trademark chest thumping Gorrilla Warcry™️ ... and United will simply wilt and cave under the pressure of such fearsome courageous behaviour.

We're drowning in the depths of the Premier League relegation zone. We sunk to the bottom. Ruben Selles has jumped in at the Deep End, with no experience of such rescue situations, but he is trying his best to save us. So what you say is true, from that perspective, he is out of his depth. Good news is, he can swim. Although he's likely not one of the best swimmers in Europe, and most certainly not the fittest in history, he is here, and he was brave enough to jump in and try his best to keep us afloat. He's not an experienced lifeguard, but he has the highest qualifications available and excellent references from previous employers. Last night, he pulled us up off the bottom, and handed us a life raft. It was gritty, rather than elegant. Really hard work. But we've showed great fight, spirit and determination. We're alive, and kicking our way back to the surface. The players clearly have respect and belief in him. He has galvanised and united the Club. I don't know if we'll have enough, to make it to the safety of the shallow end. But Ruben has given us a chance, and kept us in the fight for survival. Very dapper chap, our Ruben. He wears it well, with confidence, and a refreshingly infectious enthusiasm. The six points he's taken from the last nine, neatly wrapped in a couple of clean sheets, and folded up into a crafty pocket square, is a really nice touch. Fair play to him.

I am not someone who will belligerently cling to an opinion once it has clearly passed its used by date. I've never really "got" the obsession many seem to have on here with being "proved" right or wrong. There is absolutely nothing "wrong" with being wrong (if you'll pardon the aparrent non-sequitur), at least so long as you don't make it into a constantly recurring habit. All anyone can do when forming an opinion, is to take the time to ensure we are as well informed as we can be on the given subject, and draw (hopefully logical) conclusions based on the evidence at hand, and our own gut feelings at the time. The problems arise when you become so firmly entrenched in those opinions, that the nasty old ego monster won't allow you to back down, for fear of losing face. Well relax, my friends, for this is an internet forum. You have no face to lose. That having been said, I am not ready to write Ruben off just yet. And here is why. Firstly, first impressions count. At least for me, they do. And my first impressions of Ruben Selles, we're that he comes across extremely well. He talks a good game, and clearly has a strong depth of footballing knowledge. His dealings with the media have been first class, and are frankly a breath of fresh air after the virulent toxicity and deluded fuckwittery of Nathan Jones. Next, for many it seems, the fact the players love him, is being perceived as a negative issue. I understand where you're coming from, but I take a different perspective on the matter. The shower of shite that can be loosely defined as our squad of "professional football players", are clearly bottoming out, suffering from the stage-fright of abject performance related fear, and are completely wilting under the pressure. Playing under someone you have no respect for, is only going to compound these issues. For me, the best chance we have now (being that no self respecting quality manager is going to take this clusterfuck of a job on now), is to have someone they do love and respect in charge. It may or may not improve results going forward, but if a core of the squad respect the man, they are at least going to try to improve the situation for him. Another factor in his favour, he is a very experienced and well travelled coach. You have to have something about you, to put yourself out there in going abroad at a youngish age to such far-flung locations as Azerbaijan, Greece, Russia, Scandinavia, in order to further your career, and improve yourself. That takes some bottle. Then when you look into it, and see so many of his clubs speaking so highly of him not only as a person, but of the positive impact he had during his time with them, a pattern clearly emerges. There is a reason (or many as it happens)that he is so well regarded. We all know the utter dross we have been afflicted with at this Club, and we know how significant their mental scarring is, from turning out such abysmal performances for so long. It takes time, a lot of hard work, and someone to gradually help to restore their self belief, after such a consistent mental and emotional hammering. Sometimes even the smallest setback after an initial positive turn for the better can seem insurmountable. He is pretty much here for the remainder of the season anyway. If you're a half-decent experienced top-flight manager, you wouldn't touch us with someone else's bargepole right now. Ruben is a good man. Honourable, professional, and an extremely likable, enthusiastic character; which is a hell of a lot better than the mouthy tosser we've just got rid of. The best we can hope for, is to keep supporting him for now, and not make his job of trying to get a tune out of this weak minded shower of a squad any harder than it already is. He said himself, his first task was to make us more defensively solid, and bar the Bednarek/Bazunu clusterfuck at Leeds, we've not conceded under him from open play. He also said he wanted to give them a system they already knew at first, rather than try to change too much too soon. For me though, he needs to stand on his own two feet from here on out though. He will live or die by his own decisions, so he needs to be true to himself, and start setting the team up the way he really wants, in his own image. I still really hope he can find the right mix to turn it around and at least make some kind of fight of the rest of the season. All we can do is continue to play our part in supporting him and the team, and if it does not work out, then next season is a hard reset in the Championship. This trainwreck of a season is all on Rasmus, and the players must take their share too, for so many gutless performances and pathetic capitulations. Most of us poor fuckers are born with this Saints affliction, and are stuck with the cunts, come what may. It's the ones who have chosen us for a team I worry about.

I can't remember the last time I felt so embarrassed and ashamed of this Football Club. We have to be the only club that breaks up and scatters its loudest and most vocal support to make way for a large away following. We were completely outsung for 90 minutes, at home, by a Club that were non-league last year. Yes, they had a long way to travel, and it's not their own ground, but that was effectively a home game for Grimsby last night. Our home support is fucking abysmal at the best of times these days anyway, since returning to the Premier League, and that's from a man who stands in the Northam doing my best to make a difference. It's just empty, souless and vapid. I remember in the Championship, one game against Coventry that exemplified our support. We were belting out Oh when the Saints (oh when the Saints) go marching in (go marching in) for twenty minutes solid, and the only thing that stopped us singing, was Gareth Bale firing a free kick into the top corner. These days we can barely muster a whimper. All just feels totally flat, even without the Club selling our tickets to away fans and making us move. The game itself was disgusting. I can understand Ruben wanting to see what those who had been on the fringes could do, and that line up should have been more than capable of dispatching a struggling League Two side. We moved the ball around nicely enough, 75% possession, yet managed to do the square root of fuck all with it. The worst aspect by far, was how utterly static we were. Whoever was on the ball had no forward passes to play, as time and time again, the useless cunts were literally stood motionless, waiting for the ball to come whilst being closely marked. It was comical if not so infuriating. I'm pretty sure the manager is not telling them to go out and perform their best impressions of statues. A set of madame tussauds waxwork models of our players would likely have offered more movement. When Adam Armstrong reemerged from the tunnel on the other side of half time, it was obviously game over. The VAR officials clearly enjoyed their chance to contribute to a historic giant killing (I use the term loosely). That second penalty has already been dissected on here and saved me the trouble, but the only good thing about that decision is that it affords me the opportunity to use the word clusterfuck again. An utterly abominable decision, and once Saints go two goals down, we all know it's game over. Even against league two Grimsby. But even with two awful penalties against, we should still have had enough about us to at least take that to extra time against a tiring league two team. The final straw for me was eagerly awaiting to obvious arrival of Onuachu for a flurry of crosses into the box..... and seeing Joe-Fucking Aribo lumbering forward from the bench instead. The only highlight of the evening for me was long after the final whistle had buried our comatose team. Taking my dog out to perform her evening toiletries, and watching her playing out a fantastic impression of crop-circles Fernandes, whilst taking two minutes to decide where she was going to take a piss.

Fantastic news! An excellent decision from the Club. It is nice to know that we are in fact capable of making them. Great timing too, right in the lead up to the next Ruben Selles Press Conference Masterclass. This is about so much more than a great win at Chelsea. This is all about Uniting our Football Club. The players all not only want him, but love working with and playing for him. We've been told this by a number of our respected sources, yet crucially, we can all so clearly see it for ourselves too. It is obvious. Like the snippet we had earlier in the week said: Ruben has a way of being with the players, that makes you want to run through brick walls for him. It's what happens, when you recognise genuine Leadership. Be it poorly, well, or somewhere in between, managers manage. Whereas leaders lead. And as I know full well from my own life experience, when you know you have a quality inspirational leader you can trust, you will follow them anywhere, and even abject fear will not stop you. A great leader helps you to feel the fear, and do it anyway. You could see exactly that against Chelsea, the way we were bravely pinging the ball about under pressure in tight spaces. How many times have we fucked that up in the past, getting caught out and beaten as a result. Ruben has already convinced them to believe in themselves again, and has therefore instilled hope. They will follow him into battle, and even if it is not ultimately enough to keep us up, they will metaphorically die trying. Now it is up to us to vociferously support Ruben and our Team in their efforts. We have our Club back, and finally, we once again have something to believe in. We've got Selles, Ruben Selles.....

Ten grand for mine! Can you believe that? Fucking derisory offer. If I'm gonna have to start posting as Streams, or some other fucking backwater, I expect to be properly compensated, FFS.

Saint86 sent me one, but unfortunately I can't reply.