I am really fucking angry right now, however I think that every single United fan needs to calm down and put things into perspective.
1. Chelsea will not win the league. At the end of the season all they will have to look back at with somewhat of a pathetic, inbred, Nazi-scum smile is the fact that they barely managed to beat Manchester United after Roman paid off the referee and Ashley Cole promised not to shoot him.
2. Chelsea could still end up on Channel Five next season. Enough said.
3. I was embarrassed about Rooney and his elbow. If I was a Chelsea fan I would actually go out back and shoot myself. If you’re proud of what your team accomplished tonight, you really are a sad excuse of a human being. And probably very suited to support the dirty little scummy rent boys.
4. John Terry is still a rubbish defender whose only talents include cheating, yelling and being a dick. We should all be grateful that our players weren’t raised by coke dealers and shop lifters.
5. It’s one match.
6. See picture below.
That is all.
I have to admit, I’ve kept quiet on the biggest story in football this last week, the departures of knob head one and two at Sky Sports, for a reason. Once you get into a conversation/argument/discussion/random exchange of words about sexism, it’s difficult to stop. Sexism is a complex topic for so many reasons. What constitutes as sexism, what’s just a joke, where do you draw the line. Every woman I know has at some point experienced some form of sexism, and I for one think it’s time we get together and stand up for ourselves.
Now, everyone who knows me knows that I despise Liverpool. I hate them. Hate. Them. However, I think it’s time I put my hatred aside and spoke up for my fellow woman, Torres, who tonight has tried to leave her job at Liverpool to go to a place where they’re much friendlier towards women. If she wants to travel to greener pastures such as that of Chelsea, where women are appreciated (mainly by John Terry), then I say, let her. Perhaps she is tired of cleaning all the shirts, ironing Gerrard’s underwear, and giving Dalglish his daily massage. Maybe she feels it was unfair that she was forced to cut her hair short so her pretty locks wouldn’t take attention away from Stevie Me. After years of torment, which has included Andy Gray asking her to tuck his shirt in more than once, and Richard Keys informing most of the team that he smashed that (both during the few Liverpool matches ESPN didn’t foolishly buy), you cannot blame her for wanting to start again.
My only hope is that if she gets her wish, she will not end up just another carelessly used player in Abramovic’s harem. I hope she will get the respect she deserves and perhaps show the rest of us, that it can be done, you can get away.
I not, I fear she’s forever doomed to be Jamie Carragher’s bit on the side, and we all know that doesn’t get you the respect of others. More importantly, it will make it impossible for Torres to respect herself, and without self-respect, what do us girls really have. Except boobs and the ability to cook that is.
You know when you look at the league table. You smile and you think, we’re going to do it this year. We are going to win the league, make it 19, knock Liverpool off their fucking perch and break a few legs as they fall. Is winning the league really enough though?
We’re not top of the league because we are having a great season. We’ve had a couple of great matches, some brilliant displays of football, but all in all we’re having a pretty poor season. Poor by United standards, not like going to tumble into Division one (sorry, the Championship) West Ham style poor. The thing is, everyone else seems to be having a poorer season than us. City being top of the league for a split-second alone is evidence that hell is freezing over, the cow jumped over the moon and Susan Boyle did a sing song (and remembered the words).
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind a hard fought win, I am not complaining about today’s three points, I am merely saying that I wish we weren’t making things so difficult for ourselves. Or maybe I just miss the days when we were the best team in the world and nobody thought to question it. I mean, now at days, people question it.
I don’t care how we win, as long as we do, although of course I would prefer it if we did it in beautiful football style rather than the Chelsea or Liverpool way (they happen to lose in the same way that they win) of “we are going to play so mind numbingly boring that our fans may actually kill themselves and hence forget that we’re shite”. That’s not too much to ask for is it?
Hopefully the New Year will bring some good performances as well as some more three pointers, although, of course if I had to chose, I’ll take the points. I just don’t want to fucking chose.
United, top of the fucking league.
I haven’t worn my Manchester United shirt since the 3rd of January of this year. The reason I remember the date so well? That’s the day we lost to Leeds, a date that’s not likely to leave my mind any time soon. Instead I have been one of the tens of thousands who have turned up at the matches with my Green and Gold scarf, a protest against the American owners that are running my beloved club into the ground.
I went to see my team at Wembley today, beating Chelsea 3-1, the joys of which can only be described as absolutely orgasmic. Sadly though there was a damper on my mood. Everywhere I looked there were people in this season’s new shirt, and around their neck a Green and Gold scarf, this season’s fashion accessory.
I know I’m preaching double standards; after all I have spent several hundred pounds on my season ticket that will go straight to the Glazer’s pockets. I could not give up watching my team, it would absolutely kill me, and if we all gave them up, who would voice our concern within the ground? Maybe it’s a bit of a cop out, but I simply could not manage to give up watching my team every other week. I will not be giving United any money beyond that though. No food, alcohol, merchandise will be bought by me till the Glazers are gone from Old Trafford, nor will I wear my red, white and black.
Those of you who wear your new kits with the Green and Gold scarf make a mockery out of the protest. It looses its importance because you cannot protest against something that you are supporting at the same time. Old Trafford last season was a sea of Green and Gold, albeit with some red in between, today Wembley was red, with a couple of green and gold spots. I just hope this doesn’t carry on to Old Trafford and the start of the season next week.
I know I’m not usually this serious, but this is something that really bothers me, and not a day goes by without me worrying about what’s eventually going to happen to the club that I love above everything, and everyone.
Till next time,
P.S. If by some extremely moronic notion people continue to wear their brand new AON shirts, whilst wearing a green and gold scarf (at least buy it from MUST), I will be forced to attack you all with green and gold cans of spray paint.
Which is of course football related, as nothing else is going to get me going quite like my team. I am absolutely bricking it. I can’t remember the last time I felt this sick during the final match of the season, although I’m wagering it’s been a few years.
Between having abuse shouted at me by classless Chelsea fans (yeah, I wear my green and gold in London, so f’ing what [I did tell them to go fuck themselves, of course I added a please in there as I'm just that kind of girl]) and being on a over crowded train which is way too warm and full of people who do not know the meaning of the word deodrant I’m feeling pretty sick, and that’s just my nerves.
I hate that it’s down to the last match of the season almost as much as I hate it’s not in our hands. Depending on Wigan to get a point or more at the Bridge whilst cheering our boys on to win may just become too much for me today, especially as I’m already losing my voice and feel like shit.
If there is a God, please please please let us win it. Only football can make an Atheist turn desperate enough to pray.
Come ON United, and go on the Lactics. Pretty please.