BottiPelly and the Mega Drive Dream by Rainer Wiseman

When I was a teenager, I really wanted a Sega Mega drive for Christmas. Bear with me, this does come back to Luton. My sister was getting a bike and I’d done the maths. They were about the same price. So, together with a charm offensive straight out of the Del Boy playbook, I thought I was in with a stellar chance of getting one. The anticipation on Xmas morning was mental. I crept into the front room at the crack of dawn and there, under the tree, was a box perfectly shaped for a Mega Drive.

My heart soared. It was happening. I was going to be playing Sonic till my thumbs wore out. The family found me, staring patiently like a dog stares at a ball. It was time, the moment of truth. Luton had won the League Cup earlier that year. I mean, this truly was going to be the greatest year of my life.

My sister unwrapped her bike, my mum opened a Simply Red CD blah blah. Now it was my turn. I unpeeled a corner, then a bit more. Then… What the actual flipperty flip?! I sat there - bottom lip quivering - heart plummeting. It wasn’t a Sega Mega Drive.

It was a duvet set with fitted sheet combo.

The greatest Christmas had turned into the shittiest Christmas in seconds.

Years later, after the 30 points deduction was announced – that same Christmas feeling revisited me on a regular basis.

The semi against York; full of promise after a narrow one nil away defeat. 2nd against 5th. Lost.

The DJ banging out Luton songs to the hopeful hoards prior to the ‘Dons final at the Etihad. Lost.

Back to Wembley for York again. West Hampstead, Baker Street all bouncing with Orange and White. Sonic was in the bag. Linesman! Linesman! Lost.

And those were just the big games. Sitting week after week in the Kenny with head bowed and shoulders sagging, I started getting used to that worst Christmas feeling.

The Conference was the fitted sheet, the opposition the duvet set - paisley pattern btw - not even LTFC embossed. I lay in the middle, sweating, year after year in the polyester sandwich like Robbie Wilmott in front of goal. Suffering silently because I didn’t want to upset my mum.

Very much like that dastardly duvet set - the Conference hoodoo eventually wore out. Neither were an accident. The 2020 Renaissance brought in Leonardo daStilly, BottiPelly and unified the stands.

I moved out and tossed the Paisley curse into a nearby skip en-route to my new home. My luck changed immediately. The bed of doom made way for the horn of plenty. The worst Christmas feeling was McNulty’d into touch and my housemate brought a Sega Mega Drive.

Pelly pounced us up the leagues like Tigger on terps. Big Mick flicked his magic carving knife, and the Luton way was sculpted. The mighty Oak and Maple were once again swaying together, and after the most raucous 2-0 win over our neighbours, the Sistine Chapel was almost finished. Almost.

Now we’re off to Wembley. Sonic’s golden Premier rings are well within reach. Actually, who cares about Sonic, that analogy’s been done to death now. Let’s just win. Shove it up the F.A and Football League’s bottoms. Let’s disrupt the hierarchy, be the Botticelli of football. Make it the best Christmas feeling and, please, if you have any polyester duvet sets in the boudoir, throw them away.

COYH