A sad end for a superstar

The curtain comes down. With a tumble, not a flourish.

‘I’m absolutely sick of it’

The worst-kept secret of the transfer window is finally out, and the unthinkable has happened. Paul Mullin’s time at Wrexham is over.

Sort of. Probably.

Pele’s new contract with Wigan Athletic is a temporary one and he is technically still our player. But there is broad agreement that SPM has already kicked his final ball in a red shirt. This type of deal was probably necessary for financial reasons, and a loan just feels like dragging out the kill. The guy appears to be a gonner.

A messy curtain call like this shouldn’t follow such a class act. We all pictured the conclusion of Mullin’s Wrexham career as something very different: Parading Y Cae Ras pitch after a Premier League game, giving a farewell fist-pump to the new Kop, and netting one final goal to take him to the top of our all-time scoring charts.

But his lengthy absence in 2025 began to sow the seeds of doubt that this was all just a pipe dream. And we were splashed awake from the fantasy once and for all by the bucket of cold water that was Mullin’s interview on WTW, where he confessed to feeling “resentment” and “annoyance” (if these were the two words he was comfortable using on camera, God only knows what language he was choosing in his private life) and that he can’t see a future for himself at Wrexham any more.

He pulled on a Wigan jersey this week and with that, his time at Wrexham appears to have ended with a sad whimper, rather than a thrilling swan song.

Fan favourites have come and gone for many years. Watching a legend leave Y Cae Ras under a cloud is nothing new. But the Mullin departure casts a longer, darker shadow over the lovely old town city than we’re used to. This guy wasn’t just good to watch on the pitch. He was Mr Wrexham, the face of our historic resurgence, and the kind of figure that local kids (and indeed adults) plastered over their bedroom walls and phone screens when they could have had picked a movie superhero instead.

Such is the strength of feeling towards Mullin, a handful of fans have announced they cannot support a club the striker is no longer a part of. They were shot down for these comments, but you have to remember that heartbreak makes people say silly things. It took us so long to find a striker who was in sync with what we stood for, it was never going to be easy to say goodbye.

As football fanbases go, we’re not necessarily the most laidback bunch here at Wrexham. The Red Army is loud and rowdy and restless. We demand a lot from our players - and we’ve alienated plenty in the past after insisting they take their role more seriously. Take the case of Kevin Thornton: A man who should have been immortalised in the Wrexham Hall of Fame for his spot-kick at Wembley but ended up warring with supporters on social media, claiming our rightful place was on The Jeremy Kyle Show and the sight of us made him “get sick on [his] phone”.

Top talents have come and gone - and by the time they left, all they’d really learned about Wrexham was that we were a place punching below our weight.

But Mullin got it. He understood. He saw the potential could be realised. Right from the start, he was one of us.

It began with a goal on his professional debut - something he would repeat 109 times in his time here. But it wasn’t just the strikes. You don’t get given a book deal by Penguin or a part in a Deadpool film just by being good at footy. You need to have something special. And Mullin had the lot. Work ethic. Passion. Charisma. Desire to do good. Hunger to win.

Within weeks of pulling on a red top, he earned what was effectively a local knighthood - his title of ‘Super Paul Mullin’ piped out from the streets into North Wales skies and carried across the country. It reached a point when one bouncer on the Wrexham nightclub doors told patrons they could only enter on the provision they didn’t sing the Mullin song, because he’d heard it so often and was “absolutely sick of it.”

Mullin’s very presence instilled belief. With Pele leading the line, we had a proper talisman, and it felt like we could beat anybody. Opposition supporters would groan aloud when they saw him in our lineup. Rivals did everything they could to demonise him as a diver or a money-grabber. Defenders kicked and pulled and pushed him whenever they could get close. But nothing stopped him. SPM was unplayable. And it was so good, for so long, nobody ever expected it to go wrong.

The first warning signs began blinking at the start of our L1 campaign. We didn’t like to talk about it, but it was pretty clear that something wasn’t quite right. Every time he played, Mullin was a yard off, a day late, and a dollar short. Strange, for a player who had built his reputation on being first to every ball. The fight was still there, but the blows weren’t landing.

We had plenty of excuses for him. “He’s had no pre-season.” “He’s carrying another injury.” “He’ll come good eventually.” Everyone was believing, then hoping, and eventually praying, that he would return to his old self any moment now.

At the turn of the year, the mood fell more pessimistic. As results slipped, calls for Mullin to feature in the XI waned, then reduced to a whisper. After he missed a penalty in the dismal cup exit to Peterborough United, the shouts stopped altogether. By the time the season culminated in that Charlton classic, our poster boy had been replaced: With local artists leaping into action to sketch the image of Sam Smith’s acrobatic volley before he’d even come back down to ground.

Our new signing - effectively Mullin’s replacement - produced one of the biggest moments of the whole Hollywood era with that goal. But when the dust settled at the end of year awards, it was Mullin - not Smith - who took home the Goal of the Season accolade. It’s intriguing that a thump in the fog that half the crowd could not see was selected over the strike that effectively secured our spot in the Championship. In isolation, Mullin’s was perhaps more impressive. But there may have been something else going on here: Not a sympathy vote, as such, but a way to show Mulls’ the respect he’d earned. Even in his worst campaign, he was doing unbelievable things.

The Steve Edwards trophy is probably the last piece of silverware Mullin will win as a Wrexham player. We thought there’d be a few more yet. But not every story has to have a neat and tidy credits sequence. Indeed, many of the best ones are open-ended. The Sopranos cut to black and is still remembered for the multilayered brilliance that came before its jarring final bow. Mullin will be treasured in the same way. Many of the most cinematic moments of recent Wrexham history belong to him: See Boreham Wood; Stockport; Notts Co; Coventry; Sheff Utd. Scenes we will never forget. But crucially, Mullin gave us more than just memorable set pieces. He helped to write our redemption arc.

Has any Wrexham player ever left an impact that transcended a football club and saturated a region so deeply as SPM? I’m not so sure.

As for anyone reading this and thinking that’s all a bit hyperbolic… well: I just don’t think you understand…

If this is the end - and even if it’s not - thank you, SPM.