HAVE they calmed down yet? Nobody still hanging around the car park at Bramall Lane is there?
In all my years, I cannot recall a reaction to a managerial appointment at any of our local clubs quite like the one they “greeted” Danny Wilson with a week ago.
As the calls of protest and, yes, anger, filtered rather embarrassingly from the car park into the press conference inside as the new manager was actually being unveiled, one began to wonder where the game is heading.
And to wonder, too, not at the potentially damaging effect it might have but at the damage, the scarring, that the protesters had already inflicted.
Danny, as anyone who saw him play, is a determined, even cussed, sort. Not the type who might chuck it in early. But I just wonder what was going through his mind at the “greeting” he got.
And all for what? Because he played for “that lot” across the city?
The irony is that the protests were going on around, and a placard placed against, a statue of just about the biggest Wednesdayite you could ever have found. Derek Dooley.
He crossed the great divide and became revered, to a man, by all associated with United.
Of course, times change and you just wonder if Wilson really will get a chance come August. He’ll have to get a string of wins for starters - and woe betide him when that first home defeat, or any defeat, arrives.
After all, these are supporters who were still wanting Warnock out even when they were way clear in second place and going for the Premier League.
Whatever happened to giving someone a chance?
Surely the majority are going to get behind a new manager and just hope that his side can play something like the sort of football his Barnsley side produced on their surprise way to the Premier League in 1997 with the fans’ refrain of “It’s just like watching Brazil” ringing in the ears.
You might think that all fans are the same. And to an extent, we all are.
But there are definitely different characteristics at different clubs.
They could hand out a fiver on the turnstiles at the first three home games and fans at some clubs would grumble and ask why it wasn’t a tenner... at others they’d think it was great and that they’d got hold of the crispest, loveliest, fiver they’d ever seen.
Which of those would your club’s fans be nearest to?
Talking of new managers, Barnsley became the fourth of our six local clubs to make a managerial change this season (or is it now last season?).
Keith Hill is a pretty straightforward talker, a down to earth guy, which should go down well over Oakwell way.
He’s brought his long-time sidekick David Flitcroft with him as assistant and if he ever reproduces the hilarious moment I saw from him at Rochdale a couple of seasons ago, they’ll certainly get a laugh at Oakwell.
It was a game on Easter Monday and they’d had to clear snow off the pitch and it was piled up just beyond the touchline in front of the Main Stand.
Rochdale favourite Chris Dagnall, a noted goalscorer, returned after more than seven months out with a serious knee injury. They stuck him on the bench and put him on late in the second half.
Great reception, of course, and within a couple of minutes Dagnall has scored with his first touch.
Cue much joy in the Dale dugout whereupon Flitcroft runs a few yards down the touchline and dives head first into the pile of snow. There he remains, upside down, head not visible but waggling his legs about in the air.
When Dagnall completed his hat-trick after about seven minutes on the pitch, Flitcroft performed a reprise! And it looked just as funny.
Talking of Barnsley, I wonder if anyone heard Geoff Boycott having his usual banter with Jonathan Agnew on BBC’s Test Match Special during the last Test and, specifically, the moment they talked about pork pies.
“The best pork pies were Albert Hirst’s from Barnsley,” said Boycott - no doubt to many a nodding head from any Barnsley listeners.
“He used to deliver ‘em to the dressing room at Headingley and they were lovely and hot”. Which, if you think about it, wasn’t bad seeing as they’d travelled from Barnsley!
He didn’t though, mention Albert Hirst’s black pudding. Now that was the best!