Now that the ironing's done (accompanied by an almost perfectly timed playlist of Major Lazer on Spotify - thanks to Graham Linehan and Mike Skinner) I thought I'd have a crack at live blogging the big game (even though I won't publish till after the game finishes) So it's 5 Live, a bottle of Waitrose vintage English cider, and updates as we go through the afternoon.
Six or seven minutes to kick-off, Lawro and Greenie positioned in the stands at the Sty, a beautiful day with the breeze blowing through the open window. Hearing that the A5 is closed at Chirk Bank. Team news: Rio is in - is he fully fit? Tevez is in, and the same question applies. Despite the countless millions, we're still stuck with Bellamy leading the line. I have my fears. As long as Rooney is playing, there's danger, and you always have to watch out for Berbatov.
00:00 And... here we go. Bridge is a tosser, as I've always said.
01:00 GOAL. 1-0 United. And what was I saying about Rooney? Fucking shit! Early days. Early days. Settle down lads, FFS.
06:00 Fletcharr!
3 comments:
Kim Il-Song
said...
A smart question! Does, indeed, The Old Trifford make its own Time and Relative Dimensions in Space? Or Does it just, with no-one overlooking, move about at night looking for Jeanette Scott? I wouldn't blame it if it did ! For she is very pretty. But, of yesterday once more: After the overtime was up Mr Huge just did ineffectual jig on touching-line. Oh! Steve Reeves would have ripped off one of Fanny Lee's arms and hit the Judge with it. Then, with backup of Neil Young and Emlyn Hughes he would give everyone who deserve whatfor some whatfor. But, fretting will make you only like a dog. So remember: when all said done, you know we are going to world soccer. WORLD SOCCER!
The result of this match will never be known because the entire ground shifted across the multi-dimensional plane and the human players were transmogrified into immortal centaur like beings, engaged in an endless game of galactic Twister. At exactly the same moment, anti-players were created in the locus where Old Trafford used to be. One of them was anti-Michael Owen, whose anti-goal produced the non-result we all saw.
Now that the ironing's done (accompanied by an almost perfectly timed playlist of Major Lazer on Spotify - thanks to Graham Linehan and Mike Skinner) I thought I'd have a crack at live blogging the big game (even though I won't publish till after the game finishes) So it's 5 Live, a bottle of Waitrose vintage English cider, and updates as we go through the afternoon.
3 comments:
A smart question! Does, indeed, The Old Trifford make its own Time and Relative Dimensions in Space? Or Does it just, with no-one overlooking, move about at night looking for Jeanette Scott? I wouldn't blame it if it did ! For she is very pretty.
But, of yesterday once more: After the overtime was up Mr Huge just did ineffectual jig on touching-line. Oh! Steve Reeves would have ripped off one of Fanny Lee's arms and hit the Judge with it. Then, with backup of Neil Young and Emlyn Hughes he would give everyone who deserve whatfor some whatfor.
But, fretting will make you only like a dog. So remember: when all said done, you know we are going to world soccer. WORLD SOCCER!
So who won? :-|
The result of this match will never be known because the entire ground shifted across the multi-dimensional plane and the human players were transmogrified into immortal centaur like beings, engaged in an endless game of galactic Twister. At exactly the same moment, anti-players were created in the locus where Old Trafford used to be. One of them was anti-Michael Owen, whose anti-goal produced the non-result we all saw.
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