"I am not a number, I'm a free man," bellowed the Prisoner. Greedy sod, he should have been grateful, because Coventry City striker Paul Williams is remembered in the tomes of football folly by just a solitary letter. Yes, one blessed letter.

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THE WELSH ARE COMING...IS IT?
FRDIAY 11th APRIL 2008

It's a good time to be Welsh.

No, that old windbag Cerys isn't going back into the jungle, nor is there a new Asda opening in Merthyr Tydfil. Instead, the plain old innocent game of association football is bringing this fine nation of singers down from the valleys, off the Brecon Beacons, and in from the coasts of such places as Poppit Sands and Dyffryn Ardudwy.

There's a wave of success sweeping the country, the like of which was last seen when Kinnock gingered his way into Labour leadership. Cardiff City are in the Cup Final; the Welsh league, for once, is going to be won by someone other than Total Network Solutions/The New Saints; and Swansea City will clinch promotion to the Championship tomorrow with victory at Gillingham.


As someone who spent three years of university life in Wales (you've probably already guessed, by my accent) this fills me with a tickly warm feeling inside, the like of which I last experienced when a little group of us were chased through the streets of Swansea by a load of valley boys in town for the night looking for a bit of student-bashing.

But that aside, I'm genuinely pleased for the Welsh. Add in the rugger, and Newport County's imminent play-off charge in Conference South (naturally), and being Welsh is the new 'black'. So it's time to dust down the Tom Jones LP's, and practice some canny phrases, because trust me when I say, the Welsh are coming. "Is it? I'm telling you, boyo. Who's coat is that jacket?"

And nowhere will that seem truer, when those mummy's boys of Cardiff's Soul Crew invade some unsuspecting UEFA Cup outpost next season. But all in the name of football, of course ..

NB: This diary is written with the convenient omission of Wrexham who are straggling the arse end of League Two like a slowly dislodging plastic bag stuck in a tree, about to freefall into the abyss of a stinking rotting landfill site (AKA non-league football). Thanks.



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