Yeah, alright, so the league never stops mattering, in fairness it’s the most important trophy, at least to me, every season. However, with the derby coming up it’s possibly the one day I stop worrying about the league for ninety minutes. Not because beating City is more important than winning the league, it’s really not; I would take a loss against City if we ended up winning the league, although I wouldn’t be too happy about it on the day or for the week that followed. Truthfully the reason why at this moment in time the league doesn’t matter is because I get more nervous than an old lady who doesn’t know where the nearest toilet is.
There’s hundreds of United blogs out there, some of them I read, some of them I don’t, but god knows I’m going to leave it to you to be all serious and do all them statistics about who’s won the most matches, who scored that important goal 105 years ago, not to mention answering the question of JUST how important this match is. I’m more of the, look at me, I’m fucking bricking it, lets all start a support group type.
So I figured, because between those of you that are all bricking it, I’d just come out and say it. You’re not alone, I feel you and I’m here for you if you need me. Or you could just watch this:
P.S. (Nearly) 35 years, won fuck all.
For some reason, ever since I heard that Rafael da Silva is getting charged with improper conduct (!!!) for complaining about being sent off unfairly, I have had the Go-Go’s We’ve Got the Beat on my head. Only the one line though.
First off, let me say, that the fact that Rafael, the cool tempered, serious and non emotional player that he is, has committed such a felony, in my opinion, means the electric chair would be too good for him. How DARE he show any kind of passion and disappointment at being sent off for a nothing incident? Does he not know how hard the FA has been working to stifle any kind of passion in the game for the last fifteen years? No taking your shirt off, no kicking the ball away, no running around celebrating a goal, no kissing the badge (actually, that’s just my personal request), no punching the air, no talking to the ref, no disagreeing, no swearing at the opposition. Actually, just don’t do anything. In another fifteen years I’ll be expecting it to be against the rules to kick the ball, after all that bag of air has feelings too (which is much the same as what Dwight Yorke learned about Jordan).
Whenever I have a bad day, I look up the above picture of Rafael, and it cheers me up. Don’t take that away from young players. Yes, they should respect the referee (of course, that may be helped by actually getting some decent referees and taking Mike Dean out back and putting him down Old Yeller style) and they should be taught sportsmanship, but you have to let the kids show some passion. The sport is already overrun by little prima donnas who couldn’t give a toss if they win or lose as long as they get their £1million a month and more escorts than Casanova could satisfy.
Football used to be a much more enjoyable sport when you could give someone a push without them crying like a little girl who’s had their lollypop stolen off them, or you could actually celebrate scoring a goal, saving a penalty or winning a match, the cup-leg or a final at Wembley. The more the FA tries to “fix” the game, the more they’re breaking something that was fine to begin with. Football needs passion. If we wanted to watch a bunch of cold-hearted mercenaries, we would be watching Rambo. Or Manchester City.
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.
So, I reckon most football fans would have read about the transfer request handed in by Carlos Tevez at Wastelands (sorry, Eastelands). Apparently, and I for one is completely shocked by this, Tevez really is a money grabbing whore.
As it seems, Tevez didn’t leave Manchester United for the blue moon minority in Manchester because of the money, Tevez just though it was closer to home. Apparently someone told him you could jump on the Metro and go straight to Buenos Aires from outside the City stadium, and after 17 months of trying every single line on the tram he has realised that it’s most likely he was merc’d.
Seeing as Manchester City now refuses to pay for him to take a private jet back home twice a week, on top of another hundred grand weekly raise, he could see no other way but to hand in a transfer request. Which in all honesty City should have accepted. I mean surely the prospects of making some money off the ugly bastard rather than having him retire is quite tempting? Sadly Mancini and that scarf of his, which by now inhabits lifeforms of it’s own, has decided that because Fergie managed to deal with Rooney, they together can deal with their own greedy little twat.
There are whispers of course that Tevez may be headed to Madrid or London, however he continues to claim that it is all down to missing his family and that he is preparing a statement to be released where he will show the public his reasons for “needing” to leave and why City has no choice but to release him back into the wild. Boy, I can’t wait.
Guess that’s what happens when you give someone an arm and a leg, and the captaincy, without a fight. Shame Grizzly bears have a declining population, or I reckon Tevez would have been taken out back and shot by now.
P.s having read the statement, it seems oddly familiar in some ways. Aww well, this is how it feels to be citeeeeeeh.
Stereotypical female football fans.
I don’t think blokes realise just how hard it is to be a female football fan, even now when we’re in the year 2010. Most of my male mates will say that they take the female fans just as seriously as the male fans; however, that’s an outright lie. You don’t take us seriously till we’ve spent a hell of a long time discussing football with you to the point we’ve shown that we have the knowledge for you to take us seriously, and I mean one HELL of a long time.
Sadly though, our cause isn’t helped by the amount of stupid female “football fans” out there. Someone gave me a link to a blog today, football blog written by a woman. Now I’m too much of a lady to actually put the name of the blog down in writing, however, it’s exactly the kind of drivel I’m taking about. The kind that makes it harder on the rest of us. Some silly bint who thinks the easy way to blogging fame is to turn the game into something reeking of sex appeal, once again making it seem like women only watch football because there’s athletic men running around in shorts. Well, news flash, boys, there isn’t anything sexy about some dude’s hairy legs, bad hair cut (or hair transplant in the case of some, not mentioning names, but he used to play for the lesser side in Manchester) or stupid robot dancing. There’s nothing sexy about a big pay check either, that is, unless you’re a money grabbing whore (Wayne Rooney will know where I’m coming from, bless his less than averagely gifted brain). These women are the same who’ll be turning up at matches with their dads, uncles and boyfriends with their fake eyelashes and high heels that sadly in too few a case ends in broken necks.
You’re a disgrace to female football fans everywhere, and to be perfectly honest, I think we should do the entire world a favour and take you around the back of the barn and put you down like the challenged and wounded animals that you are.
There are plenty of female football fans out there, who know a lot about football, some of them are very good friends of mine and happen to know a hell of a lot more than most men I know. They spend a lot of their time getting slated for opinions simply because they’re women, they spend a lot of time reading up on news and rumours to give them an edge on the men when it comes to football, and I don’t know why they bother. I stopped doing that a long time ago. I know what I know, which is a hell of a lot, and I don’t feel the need to prove myself just because I’m a woman. If anything, when a man chooses not to take me seriously because I’m a woman talking about football, that is one less person I need to waste any of my precious time on. In the meanwhile, I’ll be more than happy doing my bit tripping up silly little bitches going down the stairs at the ground in their platform shoes.
Every football fan has those players they idolize, the ones they think will never leave the club. Most of the time as a United fan; I’ve been right with those assumptions. Giggs, Scholes, Neville, all players I never thought I would see playing for different clubs, and thankfully I never had to. I also used to think Wayne Rooney was one of those players, he loved playing for United, he loved hearing us sing his name, just not enough to get his head out of his arse and do his job.
Sir Alex confirmed in a press conference this afternoon that Wayne “used to sleep with grannies, now I like them young” Rooney wants to leave Old Trafford. Great, you want to go, you go. You may be our best player when you’re on top form, but lets face it, that’s rather inconsistently, and even when you are, you’re not worth 200k weekly. No doubt we’re going to struggle to find someone to replace what you’ve given us over the years, but we’ve lost bigger and better players in the past, Eric Cantona springs to mind, and you were never going to be as important as he was to us.
No one player is more important than the club, especially one who spends his spare time shagging some prossie when his missus is pregnant with their child. Especially a player whose greed clouds his judgement to the point where he thinks that he’ll ever be as good a player in Spain, or god forbid the Wastelands, as you were at United. And especially a player who throws away the years we have loved you, the things Sir Alex and our coaching staff have taught you, and what you have been allowed to be a part of at Old Trafford, the Theatre of Dreams.
I’m not about to shed any tears what so ever at you Rooney, you’re not worth it. As it stands I’d be happy to see the club trade you for a packet of Hob Nobs and a cup of tea.
PS. If you, by some miracle, stay, I for one will not be as forgiving as the Liverpool fans were of Steve “kisses the badge on his chest, hands in a transfer request” Gerrard. You are officially off my Christmas list.
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.
So I am sitting on one of the window seats around a table on the train to London from Manchester. Opposite me sits a man who for the whole journey has not said a word to anyone, and is kind of freaking me out. Anyone watching Fringe, think the bald scary men from the parallell universe, he is a DEAD ringer for one of them.
Next to him sits someone who looks way too old to be, but probably is a student. He’s got his music on way too loud, and keeps semi-headbanging whilst making extremely weird facial expressions. Oh and he has two laptops. WHY would you need too laptops, just stick to your shiny red Sony Vaio, rather than get an old rubbish tablet to show people beforehand just so it makes your Vaio look even sexier. Not that anyone is looking at the Vaio when you keep licking your lips at people and you kind of look like a young Maradona on crack.
Then the woman who sits next to me, well I am guessing that she works in fashion. She’s very professionally dressed and is looking through all the fashion mags, been on the phone most of the journey and she has the poshest accent you’ll hear on a train going to London where most of us sound like your common cockney bastard. She also looked on me with disgust as I asked her if she could please move so I could go to the shops and get myself a bottle of water, feeling very dehydrated after last night, and whilst I smiled and did my politest little I am sorry to be such a bother act, she looked at me like I had just asked her to hold my hair back as I had to puke. You may be rich and posh missy, but manners cost you nothing, and now I will be forced to tell the whole world about you, your husband and the fact the only sex he’s getting won’t be from you.
Oh and yes, I do know you are reading this as I’m writing it, but to be perfectly honest, that’s just making it a little bit more funny, after all, freedom of speech and all that.
The student is now feeling up his screen and moving in his seat uncomfortably, you really shouldn’t be watching porn on the train mate, I can imagine trying to hide your hard on could be quite the chore. Least the bald man opposite me is keeping relatively quiet though… then I guess you would do if you’re thinking about the end of the Universe.
P.S. The lady next to me tried to get me to like her by offering me her fashion magazines, which she had been ripping pages out of, as we were getting towards the end of our journey. I said no thank you though, and then gave her the scarf she nearly left behind on her seat. If I’m going to read a magazine, I’m not going to read one where you have to be a size zero just to flick through the pages.