It was written in the tablets of stone how a man would come from a far land to take the Rovers back to glory.  But Roy of the Rovers proved to be a false prophet not worthy of the name.  Tidal waves parted as we crossed the Channel.  But soon came crashing down upon the children of  Ewood.  We were eaten by Lyons.

And so the Roveralites languished in Babylon yet again.  They were mocked by Pharisees and Philistines from both ends of the M65.  Even one of the local high priests kicked us while we were down, accusing the brethren of worshipping Mammon, profit not the prophet.  He was Hypocrates of St Sillyass, whose temple had rented pews up to 1982.  So a new messiah was needed to deliver us back to the land of milk and honey.

The number of the beast is 666, its trail runs past Ewood Park.  This clue was given to us during our quest for a new saviour.   The Beast is especially fierce around peak times, preying on camels and caravans all the way to Underworld, the land of red devils.  Yet it was written in the tablets how at the end of the A666 we would find deliverance back to our land of milk and honey.

In the beast’s lair was a prodigal son trying to get out of the wise old Time Keeper’s shadow.  Seeing the plight of the Roveralites, he was persuaded to go to the new Jerusalem.  Uncle Jack said:  “Manna no object.  Keep us in the Promised Land.”

And so Brian started as he meant to continue.  His flailing arms produced the winds of change.  It was Charlton not Rovers who were tilting at windmills.  They were blown away in the Ewood maelstrom.  Before we knew it, he was wearing the monthly laurels.  Sanctuary seemed in sight.  But the curse of the Pharohs came upon the Roveralites.  Pestilence was rife.  Boils, blood and groin strains.  We had not crossed the Red Sea yet.  Then the Angel of death struck again.  And so it was the Saints who went marching in.  We fell to Babylon for the first time in twenty years.

This gave the messiah a chance to separate the sheep from the goats.  We needed disciples to our cause.  Standards had to be set.  Our years of plenty were over.  Players had to accept lean times.  The Swiss Guard went fishing for men in the Mersey.  While Sutty packed up his crutches and limped away for a Kings Road ransom.

Now Rovers are in the Football League again, but not for long.  Our pestilence has been exorcised.  We are lean, fit and hungry for success.  The Roveralites are confident, they know they will soon return to the promised land.  Keep the faith brothers and sisters.  A new Millenium is about to dawn.