Message board regular Dorse ponders whether the current iteration of QPR might offer up a couple of candidates for the club’s list of cult heroes.

One of the reasons I like QPR is that other people just don’t get it.

‘But, there are so many clubs in London – why QPR?’ Seriously? Have you seen the rest of them? Besides, they don’t let just anyone get born in Queen Charlotte’s, you know.

‘But, they never win anything!’ So what? Most football teams never win anything. Seriously, most cups and titles in this country go to a group of about sevven teams. Realistically, that means everyone else is playing for the title of ‘Best Loser’. Think about it: even getting into Europe, without winning the title, is basically the same as coming second on Sports Day and getting a sticker. They won fuck all, same as us, just spent more doing it.

‘QPR? Who are they?’ This, from a Morecambe fan? To quote the immortal Richard Richard: ‘Oh sod off. Go on, sod off. Get to soddery’.

I love QPR for all the reasons other people don’t get. For example, our sense of humour leaves them baffled. With a straight face, I once explained to a room full of Liverpool, City and United fans that none of the tourists that visit their grounds ever get to see the Ibiza Cup. References to North Battersea or a particular bus stop in Hounslow produce blank looks. I’ve had people genuinely fact-checking me, saying that the 1986 Milk Cup final did, in fact, take place.

Yeah? Not according to my records, mush.

Throughout our time as one of the top (60-odd) English clubs, we haven’t really been all that important outside of our own little bubble. A single cup win, a couple of divisional titles, some runners-up spots, the odd play-off here and there. Small beer as far as the wider football universe is concerned. Fine. Never liked them other clubs anyway. But that isn’t to say we haven’t had players who still make the heart beat faster, or bring a tear to the eye. And not just in a blind-panic-oh-Lordy-here-comes-Zesh-Rehman kind of way either.

So why bring it up? Well, a club like ours tends to either attract or produce a particular kind of player. One who seems to sum up the experience of being a fan more so than others. They don’t have to be objectively brilliant and much of what they do would get ignored by our Digital Overlords’ highlights packages. However, we the afflicted look forward to their contribution every week.

I am talking about that rare breed of player known as the ‘Cult Hero’.

At the risk of excommunication and being sent to a black site in Kazakhstan for re-education, I would argue that some of our greatest players were not seen by the wider footballing world as particularly important. And, yes, I am including him. And him.

When you think about our cult heroes, they haven’t exactly gone on to greatness elsewhere. There is something about the combination of them plus QPR plus the fans that adds up to something far larger than the sum of its parts. Remove any part of the equation and it collapses.

Take, for example, Eugene Terrorbat. Sorry, Adel Taraabt. Beloved by all (apart from that absolute melt Barry Redchapp), tore the division a variety of interesting new holes, even managed to wear a polo neck and gloves without being laughed out of W12, such was his popularity. Leaves QPR and then…? From the life and soul of the party to Morrissey’s stag night in one easy move. Football, eh? Hardest game in the world. 30 years I did, man and boy…

You see, cult heroes need a cult. It’s symbiotic. Other clubs don’t get them. They don’t get other clubs. Result? Everything goes flat as a plate of piss.

Is there a point coming? Well, I think we might be seeing the emergence of a couple of new cult heroes. And I don’t mean my one-man campaign to get Dom Ball designated a place of special scientific interest.

To define the term, I would argue that a ‘cult hero’, as opposed to a great player, needs to be unconditionally loved by the fans, their faults celebrated, absolutely hated by the opposition and should not need to be objectively better than any other player. In fact, it helps their case if nobody knows exactly why they love him, they just do. And, if he could have his own song, that would be a big help. An exemplar for this particular class of player would be Marc Bircham. Nuff said.

Now look at our current crop. Come on, there are more than a few of you looking at Mad Ben and thinking ‘I can’t put my finger on it but…’ The fact that he is even known as ‘Mad Ben’ gives you a clue that we are into cult territory here! He is, quite literally, ‘in your head…’

I would see your Mad Ben and raise you a ‘Jimmy: Jimmy Dunne...’ (still think The Undertones’ ‘Jimmy, Jimmy’ is a missed opportunity). For a while, I’ve been thinking he is this generation’s Macca or Big Dan. Proper leader, tough to play against, maintains standards, menace in both boxes: it's a yes from me.

Obviously, not everyone is going to see things the same way: to be fair, I bet when Stan Bowles plied his trade here, the offline predecessor of LFW had members posting ‘He needs to track back more’ (presumably on hand-written cards pinned to a notice board in Batman Close).

I would say that there might, in fact, be more in this current group that end up inducted into the Deep Mysteries Of The Chosen (Shepherd’s Bush chapter, est. 1882BC, bring your own cape). The fact that we’re even mentioning it is testament to a change in the vibe around QPR at the moment. It has been quite some time since things have felt this positive. Not that long ago I wrote that I wanted to see a solid pre-season, followed by a good start. Well, so far, count me as a Happy Clapper.

The cult was due a few more heroes. We might just have some.

More by this author >>> The Real Quiz >>> Upon Reflection >>> The death of Pep-ball – are QPR finally on trend? >>> The Final Countdown

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Pictures - Ian Randall Photography

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