There are a lot of emotions that come with being a football fan; ups and downs, laughter and tears, but none of them can quite compare to the feelings brought about by your team winning the league. We are a lucky bunch of fans, as are all fans that get to see their team win trophies, gain promotion, winning games as much for their fans as for themselves. We were the underdogs in August; the team that very few non United fans thought could win the league. The team who had only really signed a big name in Van Persie, and some Japanese player from the German league, that no one really knew that much about, because it’s not strictly speaking fashionable to watch football leagues that do no concern your own team.
So I guess this is the time of the season that may be referred to as “squeaky bum time” eh? Only in my case it’s more, spend a majority of most matches either breathing into a paper bag or get through a 20pack of cigarettes (obviously not when at Old Trafford). I love the fact that I still feel like a kid about football.
Every match that I go to or watch on the TV, I’m like a kid at Christmas, watching your team play, it just doesn’t get any better than that. At least that’s how I feel before kick off, once the whistle signals the start I feel more like the old drunk who works as Santa at Christmas and scares the kids because he keeps getting the shakes if he doesn’t have a sip of his special coffee every so often. I’m feeling really fucking nervous about the Arsenal match; I’ve got to admit as much. A lot is going to depend on those ninety minutes (please just ninety minutes, last thing we need is a bloody replay at the Library version 2.0). We need to win, not just to go through in the cup but to knock Wenger’s boys confidence even further, and not to mention get our confidence back after the last two matches of “football”. I don’t make football predictions, as I’ve mentioned before, however the one thing I will predict is that if we lose this match that could have a worse effect on our title hopes than losing to the dippers and the rent boys.
Anyhow, I’m not going to do an in-depth preview here, to be perfectly honest I’m nervous enough about our injuries without writing about them and starting to think about them in the middle of the fucking night when really I should be getting my beauty sleep. Instead I’m going to leave you with the below happy memory of Giggsy’s goal against Arsenal in the semis in ’99.
He gave Giggsy the ball
And Arsenal won FUCK ALL
Come on reeeds
So I started writing a blog, but I ended up sounding quite serious and like I was actually attempting to be a serious football blogger, as if that’s me.
It’s quite obvious that I’m not going to be in a good mood right now. I feel like I’ve had my heart ripped out and trod on by a pack of ogres, which ironically is what a lot of the Liverpool players look like they’re related to. I did a post to cheer people up after Tuesday, but I’m not going to try and do that now. Why, you may ask? Because there’s no way of getting cheered up losing to Liverpool in the way we did.
This isn’t about the league, we’re still top and Arsenal have to play their match in hand at the Lane against Spurs, I’m not concerned about the league. It is about having your heart ripped out, stepped on and spat on. Actually, that would probably hurt less. Losing to Liverpool isn’t just losing, it’s not about losing the three points that will help secure our 19th title and it’s not something you can take on the chin, not the way we played today.
Carragher’s challenge on Nani was horrendous, yes. One of the goals may have been offside, maybe at a red tinted stretch. The Liverpool goals were scored because we fucked up, not because they had a brilliant game. However, when it comes down to it, we were embarrassing today. Pathetically so. Our midfield made me cringe. Our defensive mistakes made me hide behind my green and gold scarf. We didn’t turn up today, and we should have done. We should have wanted it more. We should have fucking wanted it at all.
What pisses me off almost as much though would be the comments I’ve seen some United fans make. We were shit, and we’re all hurt and disappointed because of it, but turning off the match? Giving up on the league? Fucking come on. Are you the same people who make fun of Chelsea fans and their tendency to boo their team? The same people who complain about fans leaving early when we’re winning (or even losing) at Old Trafford? Because turning off today would have been as bad as leaving early or booing your team. You support your team through thick and thin, you don’t pick and chose. I’d hate to see what some of you would do if we dropped out of the top five or if in years from now we get relegated. It’s alright to get upset, it’s alright to be pissed off, I feel sick to my stomach after today, I really do, but let’s be honest, we’ve been shit all season and we’ve lost THREE matches and we’re top of the league. Most fans would give their right leg to have their team be in our position.
There is one bright spark in the post apocalyptic black out though, that boy Chicharito. The only reason I’ve not finished a bottle of Vodka by now.
I’m going to go take my aggression out on the Xbox now; I’ll be back to my cheerier and more entertaining posts soon. Promise.
And why I don’t blog it seriously.
Now I read a fair few footballing blogs, mainly United ones, and my favourite one is a pretty serious one by a die hard fan which includes tons of news and crazy amounts of brilliant statistics, but I’d like to point out that it’s quite obvious that I am not trying to be like that.
I do serious all day long in life, why should I do it on here as well. There is a reason why a majority of sports blogs or blogs in general, don’t do very well. They’re all the fucking same. Do something original, be yourself, and stop trying to copy what made everyone else do really well, because it may not work for you, and if it does, you’re nothing put a poor copy cat anyhow. Thus endeth that rant.
Now, why don’t I do serious blogs on football you may ask? Have I not got the knowledge? Do I fuck. Have I not got the vocabulary skills? I could write sentences so beautiful it would make you come in your pants. I just chose not to. I write this blog first and foremost for my own amusement and because it makes me happy, if it amuses one or two other people as well, fucking great, but I’m not in it to become the next big football, music or god forbid sex agony aunt blogger out there. In short, I am not doing a serious blog on United’s match against Liverpool tomorrow, because every other blogger out there would have been busy doing it, and I think you lot deserve better than to be bored TO DEATH by the same shit over and over again.
I’m not doing any predictions for tomorrow (technically later today) as quite frankly, I fucking jinx us when we do. Last time I made a prediction we lost to Arsenal a few years back. Yeah, that was my fault. Sorry. I’m not going to discuss the team news, not going to discuss the statistics of previous meetings and I am certainly NOT going to discuss our last matches or any head to heads or whatever the fuck. Instead I’m just going to say a simple prayer.
“Our Eric that is in New York,
Hallowed be your name,
You who Kung-Fu’ed to make your fans happy,
Your will shall most certainly be done
At Anfield as it was at Old Trafford
Give us this day another Berbatov hatrick,
And no yellow cards for passion,
Although the Scouse bastards still haven’t forgiven Neville,
Lead us towards our 19th title,
And knock Liverpool well and truly off their fuckin’ perch
For this still isn’t their year,
In the name of Scholes, Giggs and Fergie,
For ever and ever,
COME ON REDS
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.
So I may have mentioned this before, but nothing makes me smile quite as much as watching my boys at Old Trafford. I actually would go as far as saying that nothing makes me happier than when I’m watching my boys winning at home (or away), there is a reason why football comes before both sex and rock’n'roll in the title on my blog.
It finally feels like my life is whole again and I cannot wait to be spending days and nights in my favourite city in the world. It can get pretty messy though, so watch this space.
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.
Is kind of how I’ve been lately really. I’m afraid life’s been rather busy lately, and it’s stopped me giving my opinion of all things great and wonderful that have been happening in the world.
There’s the weather. Pollen infestation one day, hail and misery the next. If there is a God, which I am pretty sure there isn’t, you are in so much trouble for messing me about the way you have. I wish for once England like most of the world would follow the logic of having four seasons in a year, not four season in two fucking weeks.
There’s the resignation of David Laws, who has retsigned after it became public he spent £40 000 paying his boyfriend’s rent. Well, his fella has to have one hell of a pad is all I’m saying, talk about being looked after well. Give it three months and I reckon most Lib Dem Government officials will have “resigned” due to simillar reason. Not nessessarily because they are guilty, which Laws blatantly is, but because it’d be the easiest way for Cameron to ensure his government remains a Tory powerpoint. Lets face it, at the moment it’s pretty much like watching the KKK and a Gospel choir playing happy families, and there’s no way in hell that’ll last that long. Especially not five years, however much Cameron may want to continue doing Clegg and his mates up the arse.
England beat Bangladesh in their first test match. Well, who gives a shit, watching cricket’s like cutting your wrists then watching them bleed out slowly and think of it as entertainment.
Alicia Keys is pregnant, and getting married. Jealous.
The World Cup’s coming up, and England needed Japan to score two own goals to ensure they won their friendly the other day. Yes people, we’re so good we need Japan to score on our behalf. I’m sure that’ll win us the World Cup… really… Bunch of naive twats. When we go out you’re all going to blame Rooney for not running enough, or not scoring enough, so how about you stop cheering for the player who you jeer for most of the year and just start booing him now. That way he may realise that United really is greater than England. By a landslide people.
Dennis Hopper’s passed away. Gutted. For once I’m not going to make any jokes.
In other news, we’re still in a recession, the country is run by worms who are more worthless than a lab rat refusing to test the newest shade in lipstick and I have a bad ankle.
Till next time boys and girl,
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.
Now I love football. I’m a born red, and I will die a red. If you don’t have any interest in football, I reckon you should probably stop reading now because the next paragraphs will mean absolutely fuck all to you.
Watching your team win I imagine is like falling in love. Watching your team loose is like falling in love then coming home early to find your man, or woman, shagging the ugly tramp next door. Guess what, just because you’ve seen them, that doesn’t mean they will stop, they’ll keep going to rub your nose in it. Then they will put a recording of it on the internet, and spam your e-mail and phone with pictures till you get to the point where you feel like hanging yourself, because your heart is that shattered into a million little fucking pieces. Then, just as you think it’s all going to be ok again, they’ll tell you they also fucked your sister/brother, AND they’re having a baby together. They will then take you to a dark alley, beat you senseless before burying you alive.
That’s pretty much how I feel right now. All of those emotions is what I went through tonight when I watched my team go three nil up, then waste it away. Slowly. Painfully. Sickeningly. Heartbreakingly. If you have ever had your heart broken, then imagine it happening twice in five days. Imagine two lots of ninety minutes ruining your entire year. Then imagine having to see the images of your other half crushing your sprit and soul for days to come.
As if that wasn’t enough, there is one more thing that has managed to really, really piss me off tonight. Every time I go to Old Trafford, I see other women like me who go there because we love our team, we sing as loudly as the men, and we cry and scream both from happiness and misery. Then I see the stupid little girls in their tiny little skirts and their high heels who doesn’t even know the fucking offside rule, who during the match tell the rest of us to sit down, spend the whole fucking ninety minutes talking about fucking shoes and how bored they are and don’t give a shit once it’s over. Thank you for making it even harder to be a female football fan you silly little bints. Thank you for taking up seats that real fans could have used just because going to football might make your boyfriend so happy he won’t ask for a blowjob later so you don’t have to mess up your precious lip gloss. Most of all, thank you for staying the hell away from me after the match, because if you hadn’t, right now you’d be in hospital with a stiletto stabbed into your airhead brain and I would be locked up for GBH.
That is all.