Alan.
Or Alan.
It would seem inappropriate to close the year without a final reference to the dreaded soccer. I have shied away from this in recent weeks, and you might think it would have something to do with the fact that City are in the bottom three, with a points tally equivalent to the one in 2001, when we were relegated.
And you would be right. To a degree anyway. I haven't changed my position on Sparky (which is that he is a uselss Welsh Rag tosser) and have never been particularly impressed with his supposed managerial acumen. I still feel as well that City are currently an awful side, unbalanced in the extreme, unimaginative and lacking in goalscoring options. The first half of the recent game against the Rags was among the worst performances I have seen (and I have been to the bottom, Lord, believe me I have - Richard Edghill at Loftus Road - you know it)
But, and this is is honestly not an excuse, I am also becoming bored of footy again. This is partly the usual thing of not wanting to read about yet another loss, yet another goal that wasn't a goal, but a scuffed bobble off the post and the back of the keeper's head, and yet another barren week, but it is also endemic. I really couldn't have cared less about the result of the Arsenal/Liverpool game, and was happy to sit in the cinema watching Inkheart (which was a disappointment, I must say) in blissful ignorance of the day's events.
Merry Christmas everyone! More of this shite in the New Year, if I'm still alive.
1 comment:
Richard Edghill.
That is low.
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