Matchline



From the outset here I think its best to be honest. I loathe and love Matchline in equal measure.

Loathe because I don't know what possesses people to decide that straight after a match they need phone up an answer phone to leave a 30 second garbled message about what they thought to the match,usually with incomprehensible results. Some of them sound so rushed and ill thought out I simply don't get why. It's likereading the forum on Vital Forest.

But then again I think that's why I love it. It's often a view into the immediate after match reaction of someone who hasn't really had a chance to discuss it or take time to mull it over, they are that keen to get over their view they simply can't wait.

The journey home from the match is often interrupted by turning up the volume to listen to "what the morons are saying" this week. And here is another element to me of its beauty. By and large it is people phoning who simply have an opinion that is usually ridiculous. But by it's nature something like this will always attract in those people. Those who feel the need to put their view on to others. Don;get me wrong, I understand the irony of writing a blog on the subject of idiots putting views over forcing them on others, whilst you may well be thinking exactly the same.

Matchline is often funniest though when we lose. Because then the nut jobs really come out. Knee jerk reactions to the match spelt out in and ill thought response where everyone is to blame. Under Calderwood he was always to blame, under Davies it is Doughty to blame. The usual refrain of "give him more money Doughty to do what he wants" Yes lets sign Claude Davis for £3million.

My favourite ever was in the Calderwood era. Some loon comes on and pipes up with something along the lines of what follows.
I just got in, didn't go and haven't listened, and saw the result. Not good enough, Calderwood has to go. Not good enough at all

So your going to bemoan a match you know nothing of? This particular game we had performed admirably I remember, though not who against, and were unlucky to lose, but no, some guy just got in, saw we lost,and without knowing any details feels he should phone up an answerphone and rant about it. Talk about foolish.

It did however give us "Come on you Forest men" from Carl from Carlton, or whatever his name is. This has entered into many fans match day parlance. It even had copycats mimicking him.

Then there was the guy pretending to be Irish. Now that was funny, promising a Guinness and a bag of potatoes to whoever played best that week. Unfortunately with anything funny and original other brain dead dolts have to try and steal the material and pretend its their own (look at the fake hoax Big Sam account after the other got closed down on Twitter, people feeling the need to revel in OTHERS glory)

But then it will be ruined by some child coming on who always start the message enthusiastically and by the end have started to think I really don't want to do this now especially when the launch into some song at the end, the idea was there, but the heart has truly gone.

But why do people feel the need to make it known what they thought. Most of us saw the game or listened, so we have a good impression. I only can assume they think the players are all gathered round the radio in the dressing room listening intently to what people thought of their performance in trepidation.

I was between the canal bridge and Lady Bay Bridge once when I heard someone phoning matchline. It'd had been a good win, so it was just the same as everyone else "think we did good today, keep it up..." yadda yadda. In all my maturity in my ever increasing age I decided to start swearing loudly in ear shot, hoping either a)to be heard on the recording, or b) if that wasn't going to happen, he wasn't ever going to get on with such foul language ruining it. And that's what sums it up.

Cheap Radio fro Radio Nottingham, all it is is an answer phone and some office junior doing minor editing. But by he same time frustrating but a vital part of match day now.

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