Got to attempt to appease the people occasionally 
Pleased you agree that my abilities are infallible, mind.
We the people (except Dan) bow our heads to your godlike foresight (and short term memory loss), in tribute
“Fritzl the Baggie Mystic”
He knew the score—long before The Hawthorns roared.
There once was a Baggie called Fritzl the Wise,
With a scarf round his neck and stars in his eyes.
Not a player, not coach, not chairman, nor ref—
But he knew when we'd bottle it right at the death.
He’d sit in the Brummie with Bovril in hand,
Predicting each pass, each miss, each stand.
“Swifty’ll nutmeg him, wait for the flick—
But we’ll draw this 2-2 ‘cause we’re Albion, quick.”
He foresaw the great days, the losses, the grind,
Like, “We’ll beat QPR... but then lose to Rochdale behind.”
From long throws to backheels, from screamers to slips,
He even predicted those mystery hamstring blips.
“Promotion? Not yet,” he’d chuckle mid-pie,
“A playoff heartbreak, then Stoke on a high.”
He'd mutter, “We’ll score off a corner on Tuesday,”
And bang—it’s a goal, just like it’s doomsday.
He whispered to Bruce, to Corberán too,
Though they claimed, “We don’t listen”—but somehow they knew.
He warned of the kits (the pink one? A curse!),
And said VAR for Albion is always the worst.
The fans would all chant, “Fritzl, what’s next?”
He’d sigh and declare, “A draw. With your nerves sorely vexed.”
No fortune or fame, just pints and some chips,
And a notebook of visions with Albion tips.
So if you hear thunder above Smethwick skies,
And someone’s predicting offside with no eyes...
That’s just ol’ Fritzl, the Black Country sage,
Still calling the match before it hits Westbrom.coms page