Dull David turned sleeping satellites into shooting stars
HE WENT out in a blaze of glory, with an aura like the aurora borealis itself.
Eastenders didn’t need to catch the Northern Lights night sky to enjoy a spot of son et lumiere, as they say in cor blimey lingo, because David Moyes has been a shining light in these parts for the last four years.
When he set foot among the Cockney tribes, the disconnect between fans and ownership was toxic.
Militants were picketing the directors’ box, hurling missiles and planting corner flags on the centre spot as spears of discontent.
But decent men deserve a carriage clock send-off, and it says much for Moyes that as the final whistle ended Luton’s stay in the Premier League, his first action was to console crestfallen boss Rob Edwards.
Time’s up for the Hatters, and Edwards was tearful in front of the travelling fans as if asking forgiveness.
But this was Moyes’ day, and his men stirred from 45 minutes’ torpor to give him the parting gift he craved.
Where a pall of mutiny once hung over the stadium with fans in revolt over leaving their beloved Upton Park, he has presided over light shows, flame-throwers and DJs turning Euro ties into nightclub adventures.
Moyes is one of West Ham’s greatest managers because he delivered a trophy to the bubbleblowing masses – which happens about as often as the Northern Lights venturing so far south. His football wasn’t always pretty, but if you want pretty patterns, try the Laura Ashley catalogue.
His epitaph will always be a glowing night in Prague 11 months ago, when he joined Ron Greenwood and John Lyall in the pantheon of bosses who tied claret and blue ribbons to a silver pot.
In his farewell programme notes, Moyes alluded to his definitive reference point.
He said: “I’ll never forget that night, the players, the atmosphere, and feelgood factor surrounding this club.
“We felt it again as we wound our way through the streets of East London and those memories will stay with me forever.”
In the warm-up, Moyes leaned over to shake a few hands, but there was no kissing babies and certainly no presidential wave.
Former world heavyweight champ, Hammers fan Frank Bruno, made a guest appearance but even he could not lift the muted atmosphere on a lazy first half, when Sambi Lokonga’s header punished the home side’s negligent dawdling.
James Ward-Prowse’s drilled equaliser, Tomas Soucek’s crisp volley and 19-year-old George Earthy, scoring with his first touch, after the break were more in keeping with the script.
And as he joined the players and their families on the lap of honour, applauding each side of the ground, the applause was reminiscent of a classic century at Lord’s.
Well played, sir.