The Pre-Match Preamble – Gameweek 1

Here we are again. You’re desperately searching for inspiration. I’m desperately clinging to the hope that the site can keep serving pages under the weight of last-minute tinkerers. We do this every year.

It’s inspired me to think about the nine months to come and jot down some of the other inevitabilities that lie in wait. I know there’s little I can do to stop these things happening: I can only sit back and let them take effect and try to enjoy the ride.

I’ll flirt with Leighton Baines…
Everton’s hateful opening fixtures have at least allowed me to overlook dear old Leighton for now, but I know that his rakish charm will get the better of me eventually. The mop-top full-back is just so tempting – the promise of bountiful assists and beautifully flighted free-kicks are so alluring. I always seem to miss them, never really making my move at the right time. Baines will toy with me and I’ll go on falling for it just after he’s given his best form to everybody else.

John Terry will hurt me…
I just can’t bring myself to welcome Terry into my dressing room. It’s not some strange allegiance to “Team Bridge” or even the likelihood that he’ll photo bomb my wedding. I just look for every excuse to overlook him – I’m convinced that Branislav Ivanovic is worthy of the extra cash, hoping that the Serb will see me right but, deep down, I know Terry will get his way and find me out.

I’ll sign Glen Johnson…
Somehow, this happens every year. I’ll analyse the statistics and they’ll scream goals and assists. Johnson will then pick up a knock, keep it hidden and play within himself for 20 matches, providing me with a pittance for my costly outlay. He’ll then reveal he’s been playing with a debilitating elbow injury and promise to turn it on once I’ve finally sold him. It sounds like I’ve sussed his ploy but I’m pretty sure I’ll be suckered again.

…And Romelu Lukaku. Six times
Those bulging muscles. That raw pace and brutish awkwardness. Defences can’t handle him and, at times, Lukaku will look totally unplayable. He’ll look like he’s about to embark on a run of goals that will leave more expensive striking options trailing in his wake. Then he’ll go missing. For matches, for groups of matches. I’ll sell him. You’ll sell him. Several weeks later he’ll leave Vincent Kompany on his bum and look a world-beater, just in time for Everton’s fixtures to pick up. We’ll get him back in. Rinse and repeat.

I’ll be stuck with a time waster and lose a fortune…
Every time I go shopping in the Fantasy equivalent of Lidl, I end up with an asset that will sit there, mocking me like Winston Bogarde clutching his Chelsea bonus cheque. Whoever this turns out to be, he’ll contribute nothing to my weekly total and gradually slide down in value until I’ve lost 0.3. I’ll watch it happen, convince myself I’ll get rid but always have something more urgent to sort. Like rushing to buy Glen Johnson.

I’ll invite Kolarov in by Christmas…
I seem to be haunted by full-backs. Koloraov was the first, the original. Like Johnson, he has that the uncanny knack of tempting me in with promises of goal and assist avalanches. Unlike Johnson, he does occasionally deliver for me – just often enough for me to hold him while Gael Clichy comes in and plays a string of blinders. Kolarov will never offer me security. That won’t stop me sniffing round and swallowing the bitter pill again.

I’ll go mad on Sunderland for a double Gameweek…
It’s always Sunderland. I’m not really sure why, perhaps it’s the weather or the fact that they have one of the most uninspiring Fantasy squads around: it seems there needs to be some reason to consider John O’Shea once a season. Eventually, John and his mates always get their moment in the sun. That double Gameweek that has us turning to a mediocre midfielder and praying for points. Once it was Stephane Sessegnon, then it was Adam Johnson. Now, it’s Jack Rodwell’s turn.

I’ll waste my Wildcard…
Yeah, I know that the early international break is the optimum time but I’m far too clever to do that. Instead, I’ll fool myself that I can fix my team without playing my Wildcard early and be convinced that, eventually, there’ll be an even better window of opportunity on its way. There won’t be. I’ll play it anyway for fear of taking it into Easter and it will be frittered away signing players I should have got after Gameweek 3. Idiot.

I’ll moan about the template…
Why? Because I was silly enough to miss the bandwagons and now I can’t bring myself to swallow my pride and jump on board. Like the rest of you are waving the funds you saved in my face and I’m left weeping, watching Aaron Ramsey and Yaya Toure rip my heart to shreds. I won’t acknowledge this. I’ll blame the game and everyone’s lack of imagination. I’ll wait for Theo Walcott to come back from injury and tell myself that he can help me close a 200-point gap.

I’ll convince myself I’ve learned some lessons…
I say all this. I list my flaws and habits and yet, when I suffer a “failed” season like the last, I manage to convince myself that I can still take some positives. That I’ve learned some lessons that will see me strive to new heights next season. It’s all nonsense of course. Every season is different and many of these “lessons” won’t apply in a new scenario. It’s kind of comforting but, really, who am I kidding?

Somehow, I’ll find a way of considering Victor Moses…
This needs no explanation. Well it does, but even the most gifted medical minds would be baffled.

I’ll do it all over again, anyway…
Of course. This is Fantasy Football and I still love it.