We need subjects for our songs

Tim Allman, Capital Canaries I'm a bit slow to get things sometimes. Almost tortoise-esque, but once it permeates past my rapidly thinning hair and into my brain it very rarely gets forgotten, if ever.

Tim Allman, Capital Canaries

I'm a bit slow to get things sometimes. Almost tortoise-esque, but once it permeates past my rapidly thinning hair and into my brain it very rarely gets forgotten, if ever.

I remembered this little gem of information from a conversation on the train back to London after the Sheffield United game in which we snuck a very dodgy one-nil victory thanks to David Marshall and the day that Crofty managed to shoot straight with his left foot.

What stood out about this conversation was that it was in song. Luckily for my fellow travellers it wasn't me who was singing, it was a fellow City supporter by the name of Johnny Grey. It is probable that the readers of this article won't have a clue who he is, but it is highly likely that he or she will have sung one of his songs.


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For those with long memories of short players, he was responsible for the lyrics of the “We love you Paul McVeigh” song, and in his euphoria- filled state after our annual home victory against Sheffield United, he was trying to teach whoever would listen to him the words of his latest composition, which was about Antoine Sibierski.

As we journeyed back to London he insisted his latest opus was to be sung in a very particular way and had pauses of a certain length between the lines: “Antoine Sibierski….. hee's got a shiny head…..he scored against the Argyle…. their ground is like a Shed”

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After conducting us for the best part of 15 minutes, Johnny wandered off for a refill never to return, after finding a new group of friends to teach his song to.

That song, unsurprisingly, never made it past the Barclay Choir audition stage.

As I was wondering what I would write about this week I realised that recently we've hardly sung any songs at all about our players.

We had a “Leroy, Leroy” for our Wolves hat-trick hero, but that's about it so far this season. No “Moroccan all over the World”, or “We love you Paul McVeigh”. Whatever happened to our song about Beccles' finest, “Super Chrissy Martin”, or “He's here, he's there, he's every, er, where Gary Holt, Gary Holt”, or “Oh Bellamy, Bella Bella Bellamy”

These were our songs about our players. Players we could identify with, we knew how they played, what made them tick and we treated them as our own. That's because they were our own. Not someone else's players who got the call from Gareth Southgate because they needed a bench warmer for the Carling Cup. City players, who had signed a contract in green ink on yellow paper.

On Saturday, Carrow Road may well have been in full voice again, singing the name of a player we still consider our own, and an honorary son of Norfolk. A player with yellow and green blood in his veins, who knows what it's like to score against Town. And score another one. And another one as he's taught his family very well. “Oh Huckerby……”

Unfortunately, Hucks is not our player, but then again, nor are many of the Norwich City squad. Several of them may well be off around Christmas, one is nowhere near the first team, another I've never seen play, and don't even know his shirt number.

A couple of them are excellent players, but spend half the game getting up from the floor having fallen over.

I want to feel an empathy with the City loan players, but my empathy is currently confined to the shirt they wear, and not the individual wearing the shirt. With the current make-up of the squad I can't see that empathy level increasing until we get a few more of our own.

Perhaps then we might start singing some songs about them.

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