Wolves columnist John Lalley looks back at the good, the bad and the ugly in a week supporters of the gold and black will want to forget in a hurry.

Not the best of weeks to be a Wolves fan.

On Saturday, I sat down to listen to commentary of Albion’s visit to the Emirates expecting nature to take its inevitable course.

When the third goal went in, I decided that all this frivolous football nonsense was not worthy of attention and with a sense of high-minded duty, I re-tuned to listen avidly to the result of the ballot to choose the next leader of the Labour Party.

Alas, even grave affairs of state could not take away the numb feeling over events at Arsenal and I have to come clean – all the worst emotions of jealousy and envy could not be contained at the final whistle.

It was a memorable result for the Albion and I can’t find any reason to belittle it, so there’s no point in trying!

Life didn’t get any better, the following day at around 4 o’clock, I felt as bad as David Miliband had looked just 24 hours previously.

Emile Heskey’s towering header was as welcome to me as the 50.55% vote for brother Ed had been for Miliband senior.

Without a shadow of a doubt, both the former Foreign Secretary and Wolves faced Monday morning believing strongly that both of their respective disappointments could have been avoided.

So too could the despicable nonsense that took place both inside and outside Molineux last Tuesday.

Stoning opposition supporter’s coaches and being responsible for sending a terrified elderly woman to hospital shows such a disregard for any tangible aspect of human dignity that it is beneath contempt.

Such a craven act of cowardice is despicable and the possibility that the culprits may have been sporting Wolves colours only makes me feel even worse.

They and they alone are responsible for their deplorable conduct, in no way were they provoked or goaded or backed into any sort of pressurised corner where they were forced to lash out.

Any suggestion that there is a link between their callous violence and the premeditated, utterly infantile behaviour of such a flawed character as Lee Hughes is disingenuous in the extreme.

For anybody to allow themselves to delve into the depths of the gutter on the strength of the conduct of Lee Hughes is mind-boggling.

Frankly, Hughes is more to be pitied than scolded No I haven’t taken out a subscription to The Howard League for Penal Reform or become a campaign manager for the more liberal elements of the Parole Board.

His judgement, if indeed he has any at all, simply could not have been functioning rationally to allow himself to wear such a juvenile appendage designed to provoke and inflame as some sort of bandage for injustice.

If football is any sort of microcosm for society and I hope to God that it is not, then we really are on the slippery slope.

When he sauntered off after being substituted he was finally free to expose his scribbled message to the meagre crowd. ‘Boing Boing’ it read, there for all to see in its full glory and the inarticulate chump displaying it so proudly was blissfully unconcerned and unaware of any semblance of responsibility.

Worst of all, when the images of this self-serving individual reached the living room of the family so grievously harmed by his previous actions, I hope he felt vindicated.

His effrontery was staggering, sadly he probably can’t understand why.

Football could do with giving the paying spectator a damn good break from this inane nonsense.

Years back, Chelsea captain Dennis Wise insisted on taking his baby up the steps to the Royal Box to collect the FA Cup.

It was not enough for him that this defining moment for any professional should be cherished as part of football history, no, he had to cart a bewildered nipper with him in a display of pure and characteristic self-importance.

You almost expected him to drop the kid into the cup so that he had a hand spare to pick up his winner’s medal. Since that day, tiny infants seem to have become a fashion accessory for footballers.

Every season’s conclusion sees a lap of honour for the players before their departure for foreign beaches.

They seem to believe that unless they have a couple of their tiny offspring hanging from their shoulders, their slow pitch side promenade milking applause is somehow incomplete.

With the ever-increasing revelations of the rampant fornication indulged in by some PFA members, a few will soon need to hire a minibus to accommodate all the kids on the touchline tour.

Please, give it a rest!

Hughes of course was simply following a fashion, this continuing nonsense of goal scoring players defiling their club colours by peeling their shirts over their eyebrows to display scribbled messages of interest to nobody but themselves is an act of gross vanity that the paying public should not be subjected to.

They sprint to the nearest camera lens in range, point their finger in the direction of the scribble insisting that the viewer absorb the drivel as if it were the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

The shirt then returns to part of the body it should never have left and we are treated to a big sweaty face with an expression of gormless ecstasy thrust to within an inch of the camera as a parting shot.

Carlos Tevez treats us to a new bulletin with every goal he score, he must spend an inordinate amount of time with a felt pen in his hand.

I can’t remember even the barest gist of one of his t-shirt messages, but I can still picture his mush breathing down a camera lens.

It’s all part of their unshakable conviction that as football players their entitlement is absolute.

They are speaking, contradiction is not an option, therefore you will read and accept their message even if so much of their scribbling is indecipherable gibberish.

Spectators have had to tolerate the sickening sight of players crossing their wrists handcuff-like to flaunt their solidarity for jailed friends or family.

The fact that a court of law may have acted with scrupulous adherence to the evidence simply does not register, they are football players and by definition incapable of misjudgement.

The Court of Appeal really should get up to speed – football demands it. This nonsense goes back a long way.

In his Liverpool days, Robbie Fowler took the t-shirt option to support a group of Merseyside workers during an industrial dispute, whatever business it was of his.

His stance lost some of its appeal when he later staged another on pitch ostentation to quite disgustingly make repulsive innuendo regarding the sexuality of Graeme Le Saux. He would have done us all a favour by sticking to football and I wish the players nowadays would do the same.

Football , I love it, but sometimes it makes you despair. I suppose David Miliband feels the same about politics right now.

Mind you, I see that West Ham goalkeeper and World Cup duffer Robert Green has just had a letter from the FA ‘reminding him of his responsibilities,’ after gesaturing in the direction of the press-box last week. Now this I can understand!

Give us me t-shirt and felt pen, how do you spell ‘Green is Innocent?’