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Good luck Tottenham

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    Good luck Tottenham

    The biggest game in their history in the premier league. A win tonight will secure them 4th place, and champions league. Good luck lads.
    Knock first as I might be balancing my chakras.

    #2
    Originally posted by suityou01 View Post
    The biggest game in their history in the premier league. A win tonight will secure them 4th place, and champions league. Good luck lads.
    Totteningham gets my vote the game, if city get it then they will screw the transfer market big time

    Comment


      #3
      Originally posted by suityou01 View Post
      The biggest game in their history in the premier league. A win tonight will secure them 4th place, and champions league. Good luck lads.
      Ossie Ardiles should get a goal for them. With him alongside Ricardo Villa, Tottenham will take some beating!

      Comment


        #4
        But aren't City a 'Massive' club?

        Come on Bolton, 14th place is ours!

        Comment


          #5
          Originally posted by Churchill View Post
          Ossie Ardiles should get a goal for them. With him alongside Ricardo Villa Tottenham will take some beating!
          What... there's a feckin' Argy in the country? Send the bugger back.
          Science isn't about why, it's about why not. You ask: why is so much of our science dangerous? I say: why not marry safe science if you love it so much. In fact, why not invent a special safety door that won't hit you in the butt on the way out, because you are fired. - Cave Johnson

          Comment


            #6
            Originally posted by Churchill View Post
            Ossie Ardiles should get a goal for them. With him alongside Ricardo Villa, Tottenham will take some beating!
            Wasn't that the 1981 FA Cup final, the 100th FA cup final. I've got the program at home

            Comment


              #7
              Originally posted by FiveTimes View Post
              Wasn't that the 1981 FA Cup final, the 100th FA cup final. I've got the program at home
              Tottenham still enjoyed some success in the early part of the 1980's, winning the F.A Cup in 1981 and 1982 and the UEFA Cup in 1984 under Keith Burkinshaw.

              Comment


                #8
                I'm feeling all angry about these modern day footballers. Why? Because they have gone all soft. And it's because of poncy names. That's why.

                Remember in the old days, when footy players kicked a ball made out of ten pound of clay stitched inside a steel-reinforced leather shell with laces made out of piano wire?

                Well, in them days players could only survive the rigours of the game because they were called things like Albert, Arthur, Bert, Harry, Bill, Eddie, Bob, Jack and Tommy.

                Tough names for tough men, them was. And what do we have now? Jason, Wayne, Dean, Ryan, Jamie, Robbie. Tarts' names, they are. No wonder the ball's like a balloon and shin pads are like slices of bread. In the old days you never saw a Len Shackleton or a Billy Wright with a little Sondico piece of paper down his little thin socks. Shinpads in them days was made out of library books, and socks were like sackcloth.

                Same with the jerseys. Shirts with holes in now so they can breathe. Yes, so that little Jody's hairless chest can breathe and he doesn't get a chill. Eff off. Stanley Matthews used to dribble round Europe's finest wearing a tent and shorts cobbled together from the jacket of his de-mob suit. He chuffing did. No wonder players fall over all the time whenever an opponent comes anywhere near them.

                And they never used to show their back-sides at one another either. Can you imagine what might have happened if Don Revie had flashed his ring at Nat Lofthouse during a City-Bolton Wanderers game? He'd have got one of them size-12 hobnails up his chuff.

                Therapy for stress my arse! Stan Collymore slapped his missus about and he took three seasons off with stress counselling. What the chuff was that all about? In the old days it was expected for footballers to belt the old sow about a bit, specially after a bad defeat. And the women used to expect it, and so they should have. They was lucky to be married to footballers.

                Trevor Morley got a kitchen knife in his back off his wife and was out of action for three months. Soft lad. Archie McPoo of Port Vale got run over with horse and cart one Friday night and he still turned out against Bradford the following day. And he scored two goals.

                That's cos his name wasn't "Trevor". Good old Archie. Broke his hip, both his legs, murdered his wife and buried her under the patio and still made the England team for the Home Internationals. Did he have any "stress counselling"? Did he heck!

                And drugs? There was none of that in the old days. Oh, no. In them days it was a quick shot of morphine before kick-off and you was lucky if you got that. By half-time it had all but wore off so they pumped you full of laudanum. None of this cocaine sniffing and shooting up class A narcotics.

                Goal celebrations? Don't talk to me about goal celebrations. Crawling on the floor and thrusting their hips at the crowd. Huh! I'd like to have seen Cliff Bastin do that after a run down the left flank and crossing for Alex James to fire home a winner. Handshakes, and that was all you got.

                That and a wank in the showers afterwards.

                They used to say there was a "gay atmosphere" in the dressing room after the match. But it didn't mean owt mucky. Just a bit of harmless spanking the plank among healthy young sportsmen. Aye. I know. Me dad told me.

                Hundred grand a week! Ha! I wouldn't pay 'em tuppence. Two bob was all Tommy Lawton used to get a month! And Tom Finney still worked as a plumber four days a week when he was playing for England. It's true, you know.

                It is. Players had to work them days just to make up their money. Not like today. Stan Pearson had to clean sewers and doubled up as Old Trafford toilet cleaner. He had to go off during one game because someone had built a log cabin and blocked the U-bend. And that Eddie Hapgood was a male model... though he never liked to talk about it.

                So I say we start calling kids real male names again. If you're having a kid, don't even consider crap names like what people call their kids these days. Otherwise what we gonna get in twenty years' time? The England team full of players called; Keanu, Ronan, Ashley and flippin' Chesney.

                No way! Call your kids Alf, Herbert, Len, Frank, Fred and Wilf.

                Comment


                  #9
                  You missed a bit off the end...

                  And let's get the puffs out of the game once and for all. I thank you. Howard Wilkinson
                  There ya go!

                  Comment


                    #10
                    Originally posted by stek View Post
                    I'm feeling all angry about these modern day footballers. Why? Because they have gone all soft. And it's because of poncy names. That's why.

                    Remember in the old days, when footy players kicked a ball made out of ten pound of clay stitched inside a steel-reinforced leather shell with laces made out of piano wire?

                    Well, in them days players could only survive the rigours of the game because they were called things like Albert, Arthur, Bert, Harry, Bill, Eddie, Bob, Jack and Tommy.

                    Tough names for tough men, them was. And what do we have now? Jason, Wayne, Dean, Ryan, Jamie, Robbie. Tarts' names, they are. No wonder the ball's like a balloon and shin pads are like slices of bread. In the old days you never saw a Len Shackleton or a Billy Wright with a little Sondico piece of paper down his little thin socks. Shinpads in them days was made out of library books, and socks were like sackcloth.

                    Same with the jerseys. Shirts with holes in now so they can breathe. Yes, so that little Jody's hairless chest can breathe and he doesn't get a chill. Eff off. Stanley Matthews used to dribble round Europe's finest wearing a tent and shorts cobbled together from the jacket of his de-mob suit. He chuffing did. No wonder players fall over all the time whenever an opponent comes anywhere near them.

                    And they never used to show their back-sides at one another either. Can you imagine what might have happened if Don Revie had flashed his ring at Nat Lofthouse during a City-Bolton Wanderers game? He'd have got one of them size-12 hobnails up his chuff.

                    Therapy for stress my arse! Stan Collymore slapped his missus about and he took three seasons off with stress counselling. What the chuff was that all about? In the old days it was expected for footballers to belt the old sow about a bit, specially after a bad defeat. And the women used to expect it, and so they should have. They was lucky to be married to footballers.

                    Trevor Morley got a kitchen knife in his back off his wife and was out of action for three months. Soft lad. Archie McPoo of Port Vale got run over with horse and cart one Friday night and he still turned out against Bradford the following day. And he scored two goals.

                    That's cos his name wasn't "Trevor". Good old Archie. Broke his hip, both his legs, murdered his wife and buried her under the patio and still made the England team for the Home Internationals. Did he have any "stress counselling"? Did he heck!

                    And drugs? There was none of that in the old days. Oh, no. In them days it was a quick shot of morphine before kick-off and you was lucky if you got that. By half-time it had all but wore off so they pumped you full of laudanum. None of this cocaine sniffing and shooting up class A narcotics.

                    Goal celebrations? Don't talk to me about goal celebrations. Crawling on the floor and thrusting their hips at the crowd. Huh! I'd like to have seen Cliff Bastin do that after a run down the left flank and crossing for Alex James to fire home a winner. Handshakes, and that was all you got.

                    That and a wank in the showers afterwards.

                    They used to say there was a "gay atmosphere" in the dressing room after the match. But it didn't mean owt mucky. Just a bit of harmless spanking the plank among healthy young sportsmen. Aye. I know. Me dad told me.

                    Hundred grand a week! Ha! I wouldn't pay 'em tuppence. Two bob was all Tommy Lawton used to get a month! And Tom Finney still worked as a plumber four days a week when he was playing for England. It's true, you know.

                    It is. Players had to work them days just to make up their money. Not like today. Stan Pearson had to clean sewers and doubled up as Old Trafford toilet cleaner. He had to go off during one game because someone had built a log cabin and blocked the U-bend. And that Eddie Hapgood was a male model... though he never liked to talk about it.

                    So I say we start calling kids real male names again. If you're having a kid, don't even consider crap names like what people call their kids these days. Otherwise what we gonna get in twenty years' time? The England team full of players called; Keanu, Ronan, Ashley and flippin' Chesney.

                    No way! Call your kids Alf, Herbert, Len, Frank, Fred and Wilf.
                    Printed and framed on the wall.
                    Knock first as I might be balancing my chakras.

                    Comment

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