The transfer window’s shut. Slammed like a cell door. Locked, bolted, and forgotten. Not that it matters.

We were crying out for a striker, one with experience, who knows what’s going on and what needs doing. One who knows those streets like the back of his hand. And here he is – Devante Cole. Not a saviour, just a bloke who’s been around long enough to know the difference between hope and delusion. Been around the block a few times, never wants to stay anywhere for too long. Keeps himself one step ahead, which shows a bit of common sense in my book. He knows his job, not like some of the others we have. Jayden Stockley’s the exception, maybe. The rest? A bunch of strikers who couldn’t hit a barn door if you painted a target on it and gave them a map. Two loanees — “raw talent”, they say —that’s the kind of phrase you hear from blokes who’ve never had to graft for a win on a cold Tuesday night. Raw talent’s fine if you’re playing kickabout in the park. League One? It’ll chew you up and spit you out before you’ve laced your boots. Mo Faal’s already floundering, poor sod. Looks like he’s trying to swim through concrete.

Ronan Curtis? Not a striker for me. A winger, and not a bad one, but he’s being shoved into a role that doesn’t really fit. Like asking a welder to do brain surgery—wrong tools, wrong job. And Ben Waine — don’t get me started. “Get on the Waine Train”, they said. But the train’s stuck in the depot, wheels rusted, engine dead. Ruari? He takes a decent free-kick, we’ll give him that much, looks like he can handle himself in a fight as well, but he’s got nowt else going on.

He made me laugh, Tolaj, what with his pony-tail and moustache, like something from the 70s, but he knew where the goal was, strong as well. Shame he’s gone. Not that I wish him well down at Plymouth, and not that he’ll be bothered for one minute what the likes of us think anyway. Probably feels a bit better suited down south and I’ll tell you what, he’s welcome to it.

Midfield and defence? That’s where the fight is. That’s where the lads know what it means to dig in, to take the knocks and keep going. There’s grit there. Might be our saving grace, if grace is still a thing in this game. Look at the likes of Mitch Clark and Kyle John, you’d soon know about it with them pair.

We’ve also managed to take George Hall from Birmingham, always looked decent for Walsall. A midfielder who likes to get forward. Should mean that this is the last season for Ben Garrity, too much time out injured for my liking. Always needs a few games to get up to speed when he is available. He needs to move on next summer, I know that’ll make some cry, but what value do we get from a player who seems to be out injured more often than not?

Life’s a slog. You get up, you graft, you take the hits and you keep your mouth shut. Always has been.  Football’s no different. It’s not about glory—it’s about getting through the day without losing your soul. It’s not about glory—it’s about survival. And if you’re lucky, a pint at the end of it. We don’t chase miracles. We’ve seen too many promises dressed up as progress. We’ve seen too many false dawns. We’ve been sold hope before, and it came wrapped in disappointment.

So we push on. Of course we’ll get behind the lads, not for medals, not for applause, but because it’s the only way to stay sane. We’ve had plenty of watching Vale suffer, we’ve been there for the humiliations, the disappointments, neck-deep in the mess, and we’re always laughing at the lot of it. We’ll keep pushing that boulder, not because we think it’ll stay up, but because it’s ours to push. And if we go down, we fall, we fall with our boots on, swinging, laughing, knowing we never stopped running. Every time.