As thoughts turn towards the World Cup and a frantic summer of transfer activity, Matthew finally puts 2025-26 to bed - complete with the chance to re-read some of our TF match reports.
July
Cast your mind back to 19 July 2025. Any idea what you were doing on that glorious summer's day? Well, if I tell you it's the day we played up at Celtic Park, you might suddenly remember. For me, that was the day I started to really worry about the season ahead. I know pre-season is pre-season and all that, but I'm a great believer that winning breeds winning. Football is such a mentality thing. An error-strewn 4-0 lashing really gave me the jitters.
In fact, we didn't win any of our six serious pre-season matches after the opening kickabout at Carlisle - draws against Spurs and Espanyol were accompanied by defeats to Arsenal, a K-League XI, and Atlético. We also failed to score in three of them, which was a bit of a worry with the Swedish Judas just starting out on his selfless hunger strike for contract justice. Still, new signing Elanga notched after only six minutes of his full debut in South Korea. Always a good sign to score early, build the confidence. No worries there.
August
Ah, opening day. Sunshine, hope, eternal optimism. What's this? Elanga clean through in the first minute, immediately picking up where he left off with Forest. Surely… Oh. He's done a Tomasson. Never mind - we're dominant and against a team that flattened us only four months before. Against ten men in the second half, the goal would surely come… Alas, even a chance proved elusive from that point on, but the general consensus was that 0-0 was a point gained, rather than two points lost - “if you'd offered me that at kick-off” etc etc etc…
That's worth setting out in detail because it would become a recurring theme of the season. What actually were we? Good, bad, or something in between? Another two away 0-0s, starting with Leeds two weeks later, gave us the chance to become experts on the points lost or gained discourse. “You can't knock clean sheets away from home”, opined some naively. “Offering absolutely no goal threat whatsoever against a newly promoted relegation candidate is a worry”, suggested others sagely. I'll leave you, dear reader, to work out my view.
In fact, looking back now, August offered a glimpse of our season in a nutshell, the stodgy away draws being accompanied by a wild and chaotic five-goal thriller at home against Liverpool. We started well that night but couldn't capitalise, then collapsed suddenly, not least immediately after half-time. Then we played heroically to pull it back to 2-2 with the most unlikely of late equalisers from Big Will, doing his impression of an Aberdeen Angus in a fine porcelain retailer, before promptly giving it all away with an agonising last-minute goal. Oh and the biggest Scouse twat on the pitch wasn't wearing red.
These would all be themes that would recur.
September
After our deadline day splurge and the international break, we adopted a novel approach to the first game back against Wolves. We played a striker up front, crossed to him, and watched as he buried the header in the net. Otherwise, it was pretty grim stuff against a team destined for relegation, but the three points were desperately needed. No-one was complaining about a dour 1-0, least of all our German debutant who, for now at least, could do no wrong.
What it didn't do was kickstart an uptick in league results. In fact, it was August all over again. There was the now obligatory goalless draw, this time at Bournemouth in a game where five at the back was allied to a complete absence of attacking intent. And there was the standard heroic home performance against title candidates that ended forlornly in the depths of injury time as we failed to hold on against Arsenal and their dirty cheating centre-back - karma might not be quick, but it'll always get you in the end. And so after two months of the league season we'd managed precisely one win and six points from six matches. For now, the quality of opposition provided cover.
Speaking of which, Barcelona at home in the Champions League and glorious memories of Tino’s hat-trick. The new format ensured we would still be playing group matches next June, so in truth little was at stake. But guess what? That's right, we started well but failed to capitalise. Actually, I thought we were pretty decent, but the gulf in quality - especially in possession - was all too apparent. Twice Barca raised their game, twice they scored. It was just galling we fell to Rashford, not some bonafide European superstar.
Thank goodness then for the Carabao, our safe place, as we opened up our defence of the trophy - that still sounds good - at home to upwardly mobile Bradford. It was a genuine pleasure to see us play freely and expansively, strolling our way to a comfortable 4-1 and a brace of braces bagged by Joe and Will. It felt like being on holiday.
October
Finally, things were beginning to look up as our fixture list softened. Once upon a time, it was English sides that found their tactical naiveties exposed in Europe; this month at least, we were the grateful beneficiaries. Freed from the dour grind of suffocating domestic drudgery, we gambolled free like spring lambs, knocking in seven without reply against the minnows of Saint Gilloise and the faded aristocrats of Benfica. The combination play that put in Digger for the fourth in Brussels was a joy, as was the superhuman catapult throw from Pope for the former’s sublime finish against José’s ill-matched boys.
Things were tougher on the home front, but we found ways to win. Or more specifically, Bruno found ways to win. Nullified for an hour at home to Forest, we were willed forward by the Brazilian’s timely intervention from the edge of the box, before Nick’s astonishing scissor-kick penalty sealed the points. Then, with time running out at home to Fulham, up Bruno popped again to snatch the points with the final touch of the game and a delirious release of energy.
Away from home, though, we continued to struggle. Another non-performance at the Amex got what it deserved when Welbeck put us out of our misery late on. That he even needed to do so was down to another miraculous intervention from the telescopic limbs of Woltemessi, his back-heeled flick unerringly finding the corner during a golden patch - four goals in four consecutive matches - that seems impossibly distant now. He might have only touched the ball once per match, but he definitely made the touches count. Another header helped to do for a lacklustre Spurs in the Rumbelows and things seemed to be on the up.
We'd inched our way into the top half of the league, cruised into the quarter-finals of wor cup, and established ourselves in the top eight of the Champions League. As November loomed on the horizon, we could surely look ahead to a comfortable three points in East London and a concerted climb up the table as our new signings began to find their feet and our chief goalscorer returned from injury.
What could possibly go wrong?
Matthew Philpotts