Sam Lambeth’s tribute to Jon Dadi Bodvarsson after the hard working Icelander left Wolves to join Reading.
It was a bit like your daughter bringing home yet another boyfriend.
You’d indulge in the usual pleasantries – aims, aspirations, and hope that this time they’d be different.
That they’d stick around.
That they’d be good enough for your golden girl.
However, deep down you’d have the same inclination that this would be just another long line of men that had left your toilet seat up.
When Jon Dadi Bodvarsson arrived in our lives, those emotions were well and truly felt. Wolves’ type was commendable – they liked an Icelandic fellow with cheekbones as deep as ravines, stylish hair and a supposed Premier League pedigree.
Sure, Wolves’ relationship with Eggert Jonsson was defiantly a ‘rebound’ – she was confused, aimless and trying to recover from the sudden split from that injury-prone scoundrel Frimpong.
But we were still a bit annoyed when it ended on a whimper.
Then came Wolves’ next beau, Bjorn.
‘Siggy’ to his friends, we were sceptical but she spent long hours boasting about how if she didn’t ask him out then, a better-looking girl would have swooped in.
He was going to take her to the Premier League, and he certainly had the tools to do so – long, sweeping locks, a wit as sharp as icebergs and a body ready to face the rigours of the Championship.
Oh we tried to like him.
We knew he was trying to please Wolves. But ultimately he just fell short of the required standards.
Needless to say, by the time Wolves bought home Jon Dadi Bodvarsson we were pretty fed up of these Iceland types – we’d even begun shopping at Tesco.
But within one game, we were suckered in.
Here was a man who actually meant what he said – the others always promised Wolves a fancy goal and whole load of effort, but they rarely delivered (and even then it would be somewhere shit like Ipswich).
When Bodvarsson scored an impressive strike against Rotherham, we felt it.
We knew Wolves finally had the Icelandic man they’d been pining for since Joey Gudjonsson.
And we knew, from then on, he was good enough.
He may not have had a great hairstyle, but his attitude was impeccable.
His workrate phenomenal, despite coming straight from two previous relationships that had left him pretty knackered.
And, yep, he always put the seat down.
He wasn’t just a good player for Wolves, though, he was damn fine entertainment – after a game, instead of meekly offering to do the washing up, he’d get started with an Icelandic clap that would leave our dinner guests, who liked to be referred to as the ‘South Bank’, echoing a spine-tingling, throaty howl that seemed to ring out until the next home game.
Yes, he didn’t score very often, but Wolves weren’t exactly being very forthcoming in that field (and we thought we’d raised someone much more creative).
He was feeding off scraps, blowing out his Nordic bum, tirelessly breaking up play.
Our fondest memories of dear Bod include the relentless closing-down at Liverpool, which almost resulted in a stunning solo goal, and the way he, if only just to appease the crowd, successfully chopped down a clearance from a goalkeeper.
Yet he moved with glacial beauty, a delicate giant that twisted and turned with surprising elegance.
For once, we were excited to see how they’d get on in their second year together.
We began to think Jon was the one.
Then, out of nowhere, we get hit with some news. He told us he was just going on holiday.
That there wouldn’t be anyone else. And then we found out from the press he was going to Reading. Permanently.
Once again, our hearts have been broken, but Wolves are the ones letting him go.
We don’t know how to feel. We were open to loving again, we let our hearts be filled with thunderous claps and sub-zero shouts, and now Wolves have decided he is not the man for them.
Of course, we’re disappointed.
Why do parents always like their boyfriends more than their actual partners did?
But Jon was different.
He was not only a fine footballer, but a thoroughly decent person.
And you know something? I think we will regret this decision, especially when Reading are doing the very clap he did with our own family.
From now on, we hope Wolves stay away from the Nordic regions. We’re just not ready to face the hurt.