Another Stratford Loss. Rotten.

Len's West Ham - Number 1 When do you really know when it's all over? That proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back. That Archduke Francis Ferdinand assassination that makes everything come to action. That moment Johnny Rotten crouches down to a bewildered San Franciscan audience asking 'Ever get the Feeling You've Been Cheated?'

I had every intention to meet common thinking friends in East London, I did. To have a few drinks half a dozen train stops away from Stratford, then embark on the routine that has taken us 6 or 7 years to perfect, to make the pre-match queues for a half-chance of seeing kick-off.

It was all running through my mind while I carried out a shopping errand for my mum, a mere 7 or 8 miles up the Lea Valley from London Stadium.

It was just gone noon, and the local fish and chip shop had just opened. But on the way back from the shops, with another mile or so round trip on my feet to get me to the station, I succumbed. A cold bottle of Chablis, The Nation's Favourite Takeaway, and a leisurely hour with my mum, is all it took to sway me from the thought of another match day at Stratford.

It doesn't make me a bad fan. Honest.

Ok, I've removed some context from the situation. But I didn't want to dilly-dally to make my point. The club that politically moved heaven and earth to acquire a bigger stadium, and promised so much on a match day can't even compete with Haddock and Chips anymore. How piss poor is that?

I've joined the thousands and thousands that just don't fancy it down there. There are no losers. I don't want to go there, and they don't want me there. People like me don't flood the club shop like the tourists, we are just carrying on what we've always done - go to the match on Saturday afternoon. The place is second... no... third rate - and it was all planned this way. It's a feat of social engineering, to change the legacy fanbase to one that parts with more cash, in a cashless society.

I know what some of you are thinking. What kind of fan is this man?

Well, from my first trip to Upton Park in 1978, until the night we was asked to leave quietly, it would have never have crossed my mind to stay at home instead of going to the match. I promise not to make this all miserable, because... well because... it's a blog.

I would have never have missed a home game at Upton Park

Blogs are dead. That's why I feel the urge to write one. I seem attracted to things that are dead and gone. Seems a logical option, when the replacement is fucking awful. The New media bunch say 'Social media killed blogs', like The Buggles declaring that 'Video killed the Radio Star'.

But we live in an era of relinquishment today. 'I'm giving this up... I'm giving that up.' in the 90's and 00's, we started things; "I'm gonna try yoga", "I'm gonna shop local", "I'm gonna put pressure on the club to scrap this ridiculous bond scheme thing" - sorry, too early for digression.

Back to the point, relinquishment. Other than Stratford, one thing people seem to be giving up is Elon Musk's X.

I get a message like this every week on the platform formerly known as Twitter...

Not me. I can play the game. It's been good to me. But I do understand those turning their back on it, and as a purveyor of tangible artworks I do appreciate it. I also liked the way that Gary did it quietly and privately, rather than announce it like some insufferables on there. The ungrateful arseholes turning their back on free media space. Imagine turning that down in the 90's?? No wonder they fancied taking up yoga.

Then it dawned on me. There must be thousands of people on my customer list who aren't on X that would enjoy a light-hearted overview instead of being amongst it, letting it get them down. Not everyone feels comfortable telling Sean Whetstone to f•ck off on X. But believe me, with a little practice, it will come second nature to you. If I was to tell you that Sean was one of the people I was actually looking forward to seeing at the home game against Brentford, it just illustrates who bad everything there has become. Sean has skin like a rhino though, and I like him. I just don't like what he does. Which adds some urgency to this blog idea.

YouTubers aren't everyone's cup of tea either. But you've gotta love that Di Canio piece...

I'm no tactical genius when it comes to football. I don't know the formations, I don't pretend to understand the nuances or appreciate the statistics and data. What I do know, is that we have had three managers in a year, so maybe it's time to take a look at the players.

A football seems to move far slower at Stratford, than it does at any other Premier League ground, at least it does when we have the ball. That's about as technical as I'm gonna get. It's not the standard of football that enticed me to go to Upton Park, so I wouldn't behave differently at Stratford.

What I lack in football knowledge though, I more than make up with knowing the culture of football - and I'd like to think I have the body of work to prove that. So if I do continue to write a blog, there will be more of this, and less of dissecting the cruel displays at the football match. I could always defer the football bit to friends who have actually played the game. You know, the West Ham players that I actually bothered turning up for.

I'll be regular, I promise. I can do this while waiting for paint to dry - and I will even resist the obvious pun, like I did just then.

It could be a journal of a man falling out of love with his club really. Maybe it could be cathartic for me. Or maybe I just want to talk on my own terms, on my own site, and just put the paintings on social. It's all gonna be MORE Upton Park and less Stratford from now on...

At a recent E13 Event, the Upton Park pieces I included in my stall, sold in minutes. People are telling me what they want. They may or may not want to read a blog, but I won't be claiming it's a world class blog when it isn't, and I won't particularly care if you would rather go to the chip shop either.

Anyway, Kosmo Vinyl blogged the last days of Upton Park, so if it's good enough for him, then it's good enough for me. With the punk rock bookends in place, consider this a start, and I didn't even mention the words 'West Ham', the managers name, or any of the players right up to the last paragraph. The whole situation is bigger than it's parts now. Arsenal away next, Johnny Rotten's team. I promise I'll try my best to be cheery.

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Ian Dury of Upminster

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