Only three teams can win Euro 2008:
Holland
Portugal
Spain
OUTSIDERS:
Germany
Italy/France
DARK HORSES:
Croatia
Turkey
Monday, June 16, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Merde Domenech
Govou - not good enough
Coupet - past it
Thuram - way past it
Toulalan - not better than Diarra or Nasri
He had better not pick them for the crucial Italy match.
What a fucking jackass!
This cunt has made a mess of an otherwise very capable group of players.
My lineup vs Italy:
Frey
Sagnol
Gallas
Squillaci
Evra
Diarra
Makelele
Ribery
Nasri
Henry
Anelka
Coupet - past it
Thuram - way past it
Toulalan - not better than Diarra or Nasri
He had better not pick them for the crucial Italy match.
What a fucking jackass!
This cunt has made a mess of an otherwise very capable group of players.
My lineup vs Italy:
Frey
Sagnol
Gallas
Squillaci
Evra
Diarra
Makelele
Ribery
Nasri
Henry
Anelka
Monday, June 9, 2008
The South
"Nothing good has ever come out of the South." Anonymous
I dislike the South but I don't hate it. If I lived in prison I would use the word hate. The South is better than prison, but then so is Tottenham.
There are too many things that I don't like about the South. I'm not going to list them all in one posting. But what happened to me the other day is another reason why I need to get the fuck out of South Carolina.
It's Friday afternoon. I have a few hours to run some errands before I start work as a bartender - working with thick retards and serving red-necks who think they are cultured.
I hate my job.
I hate the fact that I can't do anything - for now - about changing my job. So I bite the bullet and get on with it.
It's 3 pm. I cycle to the bank and cash a check from work. It's also 100 degrees and the humidity levels are at 90% - a fucking record. The bank gives me $150 cash which I earned from my Chinese boss who has bad breath, wears the same clothes everyday and only cares about money. The man has the personality of a snake.
My bike is worth $650. It's a good bike. It saves me a lot of money. It's fast and has a great suspension.
I feel pleased with myself after collecting the cash. Next stop Groucho's Deli, which is a mile away on King Street. I buy two subs for takeaway and cycle to collect my trousers which have been altered at the tailors.
The weather is fucking hot and humid. Another reason why I hate the South. The summers here are shit because they're too fucking hot. However, cycling in this heat is better than walking as you can at least catch a breeze.
I pick up my trousers and head off home. I cycle past King Street and on to St. Phillips Street aiming for the crosstown. I'm content right now. My tasks are complete. All I have to do is get home, eat my subs, shower and cycle to work.
But then I got hit. I remember a truck speeding past me and someone shouting something at me in a shrieking male voice. At the same time a brick hit me on my back and unbalanced me causing me to fall off my bike and on to the road.
When I got up off the floor, both my hands were bleeding, so was my back, legs and elbow. My bike was damaged to the extent that I couldn't ride it. My trousers were torn and my food was sprawled across the road. In the distance, I witnessed a red pick up truck speed away with two cunts probably pleased with their days work.
They were rednecks.
I hate rednecks with a passion.
America has a lot of rednecks and not just in the South.
My hands were so fucked that I could barely open a wine bottle at work. Work that night was fucking painful. I thought that my wrists were broken. Luckily one of the Mexican boys in the kitchen is a boxer and told me how to treat my hands and wrists. He's my doctor in the "no medical insurance world."
"Nothing ever good comes out of the South." Anonymous
I dislike the South but I don't hate it. If I lived in prison I would use the word hate. The South is better than prison, but then so is Tottenham.
There are too many things that I don't like about the South. I'm not going to list them all in one posting. But what happened to me the other day is another reason why I need to get the fuck out of South Carolina.
It's Friday afternoon. I have a few hours to run some errands before I start work as a bartender - working with thick retards and serving red-necks who think they are cultured.
I hate my job.
I hate the fact that I can't do anything - for now - about changing my job. So I bite the bullet and get on with it.
It's 3 pm. I cycle to the bank and cash a check from work. It's also 100 degrees and the humidity levels are at 90% - a fucking record. The bank gives me $150 cash which I earned from my Chinese boss who has bad breath, wears the same clothes everyday and only cares about money. The man has the personality of a snake.
My bike is worth $650. It's a good bike. It saves me a lot of money. It's fast and has a great suspension.
I feel pleased with myself after collecting the cash. Next stop Groucho's Deli, which is a mile away on King Street. I buy two subs for takeaway and cycle to collect my trousers which have been altered at the tailors.
The weather is fucking hot and humid. Another reason why I hate the South. The summers here are shit because they're too fucking hot. However, cycling in this heat is better than walking as you can at least catch a breeze.
I pick up my trousers and head off home. I cycle past King Street and on to St. Phillips Street aiming for the crosstown. I'm content right now. My tasks are complete. All I have to do is get home, eat my subs, shower and cycle to work.
But then I got hit. I remember a truck speeding past me and someone shouting something at me in a shrieking male voice. At the same time a brick hit me on my back and unbalanced me causing me to fall off my bike and on to the road.
When I got up off the floor, both my hands were bleeding, so was my back, legs and elbow. My bike was damaged to the extent that I couldn't ride it. My trousers were torn and my food was sprawled across the road. In the distance, I witnessed a red pick up truck speed away with two cunts probably pleased with their days work.
They were rednecks.
I hate rednecks with a passion.
America has a lot of rednecks and not just in the South.
My hands were so fucked that I could barely open a wine bottle at work. Work that night was fucking painful. I thought that my wrists were broken. Luckily one of the Mexican boys in the kitchen is a boxer and told me how to treat my hands and wrists. He's my doctor in the "no medical insurance world."
"Nothing ever good comes out of the South." Anonymous
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Cont of the Week
I hate people.
You may find this statement strange but I don't care.
I don't have psychological problems. I see myself as normal. It's other people that are my problem.
In the world I live in, I'm surrounded by inauthentic, characterless, sycophants, who lack opinion. The rest are thick, ignorant and misguided.
They fear people like us because we are different. We make them feel threatened. They see us as rebels even though we are well beyond our teenage years.
They're jealous and envious.
They envy us because we take risks and are willing to take the consequences on the chin. Our lives are more colorful.
They can't control us.
The Celine Dion's and Steve McClaren's of this world have had their day.
They will pay.
You may find this statement strange but I don't care.
I don't have psychological problems. I see myself as normal. It's other people that are my problem.
In the world I live in, I'm surrounded by inauthentic, characterless, sycophants, who lack opinion. The rest are thick, ignorant and misguided.
They fear people like us because we are different. We make them feel threatened. They see us as rebels even though we are well beyond our teenage years.
They're jealous and envious.
They envy us because we take risks and are willing to take the consequences on the chin. Our lives are more colorful.
They can't control us.
The Celine Dion's and Steve McClaren's of this world have had their day.
They will pay.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
I Saw Stig Tofting Today
He was very angry.
Someone asked the the compact Dane why he was so mad. He said because a bouncer made him feel like a little shit.
Apparently the ex-Denmark hard man was behind a barricade stationed in front of a nightclub.
He asked the bouncer why he has ignored him for 20 minutes.
The bouncer said, "I didn't see you."
Tofting loosened one of the doorman's teeth.
Someone asked the the compact Dane why he was so mad. He said because a bouncer made him feel like a little shit.
Apparently the ex-Denmark hard man was behind a barricade stationed in front of a nightclub.
He asked the bouncer why he has ignored him for 20 minutes.
The bouncer said, "I didn't see you."
Tofting loosened one of the doorman's teeth.
This Is What I Live For
During the course of a league campaign, those who do not appreciate the excitement of nation vs. nation competition lament the constant interruptions in the club calendar. They say things like, “International football is a waste of time.” Or, “Why should we care about Andorra? My local pub team are better.” Greed has added fixtures not just to club football but also to the international calendar. I don’t give a fuck what Sepp Blatter or anyone else say, they play more football because there’s more money to be made.
From the standpoint of the fan who can’t be arsed, I understand the apathy for the international game. Many of the matches are boring and only increase the chances of porcelain doll sicknote type players to injure themselves in “meaningless friendlies”. But there are also football junkies who love to watch the game played by a collection of the world’s best players, especially if there’s a pot to raise at the end.
A gathering of the world’s best players is more than just a way to spend four weeks in the summer. It is a chance to see the stars of the football world make history. It’s a time for heroes and it can also be a time for villains. It’s a time for Pele and Gerd Müller. It’s a time for Gentile and Materazzi. It’s a time for Gordon Banks and Rene Higuita. It's a time for Roger Milla. It’s a time for Zidane and Maradona. It’s a time for Jairzinho, Cannighia, and Gazza. It’s a time for Serginho, and Baggio, and Waddle, and Southgate.
I understand the blind allegiance to your club. You’re gutted when they lose and ecstatic when they win. You plan your weekends - your life - around your club’s fixture list. You travel the length and width of the country to support your boys. And if you’re lucky enough to support a really good side, you travel the continent to sing in unison with 100’s or 1000’s of fellow supporters. You march behind the club you’ve supported since you can remember. You travel with pride. You travel with trepidation. You travel with joy. You travel for football.
I live to watch the very best against the very best as millions of their fellow countrymen watch with me. Some watch in pubs, some at the stadia, some at home, some watch wherever they can - on the streets, through shop windows, anywhere. We all watch for that one moment (several if we’re lucky) of brilliance, that moment that you envisioned as a boy and still do as a grown man, that overhead volley, that goal line clearance, that full pitch run to round the keeper, that great football moment.
I cringe when people speak of the abolishment of the international game. We should preserve the spectacle that is international football. As much as I hate that cont Cristiano Ronaldo, I can hardly wait to see him and his Portugal side take on Turkey. I can hardly wait to see the Swiss defence get cunted by old man Koller. I can hardly wait to see if Spain finally deliver. I can hardly wait to see if France can win in spite of Four Eyes. And what will the Germans bring to the party? Will Italy, Holland, Switzerland, or Austria make headlines? Can Greece repeat? Which players will raise their valuation this month? Will Filipao win both the World Cup and the European Cup? These are questions that interest me. The EPL, La Liga, Ligue 1, Serie A, etc can wait a while. I want to see history made.
From the standpoint of the fan who can’t be arsed, I understand the apathy for the international game. Many of the matches are boring and only increase the chances of porcelain doll sicknote type players to injure themselves in “meaningless friendlies”. But there are also football junkies who love to watch the game played by a collection of the world’s best players, especially if there’s a pot to raise at the end.
A gathering of the world’s best players is more than just a way to spend four weeks in the summer. It is a chance to see the stars of the football world make history. It’s a time for heroes and it can also be a time for villains. It’s a time for Pele and Gerd Müller. It’s a time for Gentile and Materazzi. It’s a time for Gordon Banks and Rene Higuita. It's a time for Roger Milla. It’s a time for Zidane and Maradona. It’s a time for Jairzinho, Cannighia, and Gazza. It’s a time for Serginho, and Baggio, and Waddle, and Southgate.
I understand the blind allegiance to your club. You’re gutted when they lose and ecstatic when they win. You plan your weekends - your life - around your club’s fixture list. You travel the length and width of the country to support your boys. And if you’re lucky enough to support a really good side, you travel the continent to sing in unison with 100’s or 1000’s of fellow supporters. You march behind the club you’ve supported since you can remember. You travel with pride. You travel with trepidation. You travel with joy. You travel for football.
I live to watch the very best against the very best as millions of their fellow countrymen watch with me. Some watch in pubs, some at the stadia, some at home, some watch wherever they can - on the streets, through shop windows, anywhere. We all watch for that one moment (several if we’re lucky) of brilliance, that moment that you envisioned as a boy and still do as a grown man, that overhead volley, that goal line clearance, that full pitch run to round the keeper, that great football moment.
I cringe when people speak of the abolishment of the international game. We should preserve the spectacle that is international football. As much as I hate that cont Cristiano Ronaldo, I can hardly wait to see him and his Portugal side take on Turkey. I can hardly wait to see the Swiss defence get cunted by old man Koller. I can hardly wait to see if Spain finally deliver. I can hardly wait to see if France can win in spite of Four Eyes. And what will the Germans bring to the party? Will Italy, Holland, Switzerland, or Austria make headlines? Can Greece repeat? Which players will raise their valuation this month? Will Filipao win both the World Cup and the European Cup? These are questions that interest me. The EPL, La Liga, Ligue 1, Serie A, etc can wait a while. I want to see history made.
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