For Sofa to Seat 114 - Farewell to Football’s Biggest Bastard.
Jamie Taylor, Writer.
‘I’m devastated that Neil Warnock is leaving’ are words I never thought that I would say. Yet here we are. It’s a wet Wednesday in Huddersfield and I’m genuinely upset and charmed in equal measure as Neil waves to the home fans singing his name and the Stoke fans calling him a wanker. What a guy, what a myth, what a legend. How times change.
Warnock, the most enduring of managers with eight promotions and 1619 games to his name has been managing for as long as I’ve been alive (42 years if you are wondering). For most of those and the years, I’ve known him as an objectionable, petty little man of a manager. His time at Sheffield United in particular lives long in the memory. The complaining, the bullying, the shit football. I couldn’t see him get relegated quickly enough. Bust followed boom everywhere he went. His gifts for getting teams promoted were only equaled by his talents at getting them subsequently relegated. Every time, I loved to see it. The sack inevitably came and I was filled with joy. It was a a particularly special birthday when on the 1st April, 2013, Warnock was booted out of Leeds. Colin Wanker strikes again.
Neil Warnock is a bastard. There’s no use in denying it. But when he’s your bastard, there’s no use in fighting it either - you just know in your bones that he’s the greatest man alive. You wish he’d shut up sometimes but you can’t help get caught up in the vibes - the man is five foot nothing of pure big bastard energy and the rest of the world can fuck off.
His football might not always be pretty but without a doubt, it’s the best I’ve seen at the John Smiths Stadium (I’ll caveat that by saying I’ve only been going 12 months). I have no one but Warnock to thank for not seeing worse this season as without him there’s no question we’d be watching Town in League 1. His great escape gave me something to fall in love with after the limp mess that was Danny Schofield and the joyless belligerence of Mark Fotheringham. Another special birthday ensued when Middlesborough came to town. A decade to the day later but this time Warnock very much in a job and serving Michale Carrick his arse via two Matty Pearson classics and a 4-2 scoreline. Absolute scenes.
Warnock is often characterised as a footballing dinosaur. He plays up to this himself but I think it’s unwarranted. The guy is a footballing genius. It is a bit of a running joke that Town are one of the best sides without the ball but one of the worst with it (which again, I’m not sure is true) but there’s something in that shows Warnock’s influence and knack for setting up a side to play the opposition in front of him. His Town sides were hugely flexible, mostly happy with three at the back but certainly not uncomfortable in a four. Flying wingers or flying wingbacks, it didn’t make a difference, the players all bought into his tactics and dug in deep to make them work. The squad clearly loved him and responded to what he was telling them. Who would have thought at the beginning of last season, butternut squash in hand, that Josh Koroma would emerge as one of the best players of the campaign. That is down to Warnock and his ability to see a footballer where others haven’t.
With his double V’s pointed to the sky like Richard Nixon in a tracksuit, I bid our mate Neil the fondest of farewells - a courtesy I could not have dreamed of affording him this time last year.
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