The Nanner League

Bone, Periodic Columnist

I struggle to remember when my blacked-out benders became routinely interrupted by a thick accented English color commentary. Given a taste on an empty alcohol evacuated stomach I let it consume me. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by football, drowning in it for hours like I was the bottle the night before. Submerged in it all, for the first time since happy hour I could breathe. Half asleep and blindly searching for the remote life was slowly coming back to me. My senses awoken by my internal clock at kick off, or more likely the filthy PBR farts escaping the covers. A whistle through the TV like that of a train letting me know it was now or never, for some reason I thought my eleven needed me there as much as I needed them.

It never lasted long. My fading optimism dealt a quick death, a new normal. This was West Ham after all. A fitting habit for the pair of us, trying to hang on to whatever we had left of a remaining pulse. For as much as I felt connected to the heart of East London, the club’s collapse in the biggest of moments was a catalyst for another round of agony. The inevitable feeling of expecting defeat drove me to the fridge, expanding my belly before the boys began to stretch. Why would I wait until the pain to numb myself again? The 7^th of November 2017 would be no different then. I stumbled down the dark hallway to the kitchen, only to find the door to the fridge open. The cold air billowed out in a smoke and the figure of an unfamiliar man appeared. I lost consciousness and crumbled to the floor before I could ask him who he was or why he was there. Had I been visited by Jesus Christ himself? No, one better.

 Moyesiah.

The man saved us, forgave us, and saved us again. His tactics were laughed at, he never let that change him. He used the squad he was given and baited teams in to exploit the counter. The only way West Ham was going to compete with what they had. The transfer budget was limited and spent in the direction of other managers’ wishes. He saw the potential in Jarrod Bowen and the intensity in guys like Craig Dawson. Guys that would do anything for that man and the badge. They would steal points from teams playing scrappy. Lose to teams they should have beaten. It was never easy; it was never meant to be. It was enough to survive.

Once he was given a fair shot to build something, Moyes put together a Europe worthy squad. The trophy will always be the brightest moment in his career. Everyone is quick to mention the three straight European tournaments, I think it was more than that. These were deep runs in the knockout stages. Other Premier League teams were getting bounced in the group stages. Those quarter/semi-final matches in London stadium finally gave it a bit of character. No league matches had produced a signature moment since moving from Upton Park. The semi-final loss crushed us, but we were rewarded immediately after. The 2023 final was the greatest match I’ve ever watched.

It happened in the blink of an eye but I’m grateful that the club stuck with him for this long. He deserved every season he was given and gave us everything he had. I’ll picture Moyes and his three-inch vertical every goal that West Ham scores from here on out. Never known for his exciting style but found himself in big moments his entire time in London start to finish. He was the first Scottish man to make me cry before and after shitting my pants. I’ve cursed him out, praised his approach, questioned his urgency, enjoyed every look of disbelief. A legend in my book. You can’t convince me otherwise.

I pray the next gaffer gets a trophy or two. It might take 20 different managers before West Ham lifts another one. Moyes will probably be back to resuscitate us when we need it most. He’s left us for now. The state of things isn’t nearly as bad as some make it out to be. We’ve witnessed the best run in the last 40 years for the Irons. It doesn’t have to be over. Whatever happens, supporters will argue over what’s enough and nothing ever will be. I’ll be one of those, forever blowing David Moyes. The rest of you can at least give him a hand(job) you fucking wankers.

♫♪WE’VE GOT SUPER DAVID MOYES♫♪