Showing posts with label hull city. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hull city. Show all posts

Monday, 30 November 2009

Alfie

I've been thinking about my final post for November (In order to take me to my usual annual 100 post total, I will be launching another exciting 12-post December project, blog fans. Watch this space) and did think about doing a City piece. But then it struck me.

What would be the fucking point of that? I mean, I think I've already said what needs to be said, and - depressing as that may be - I think I have been proved correct. I only saw MOTD, and could hardly bring myself to read any of the match reports, especially the one in the Bun today, which was one of those really annoying ones that didn't have anything about the game, because it was focussed on vampire (take a look at his teeth. I'm telling you. Admittedly, he can go out in the daytime without turning to dust, but the sun must bother him, which is probably the main reason for his decision to go to Hull. That, and Phil Brown's human blood players' dietary regime, for which he is well renowned) Bullard's pathetic goal celebration, likening it to the great moments in history such as Fowler's white line antics and Souness planting the flag on the centre spot after a Cup Final in Istanbul. Worth watching the little vid of that, though probably on YouTube, as big Graeme struggles to get the bloody thing in the ground, and when he finally does, it's not quite on the centre spot. Ha! What a twat.



However, as I think I was saying, given my extremely limited appraisal of the match, I thought everyone was (and is) being rather beastly to poor little SWP. I'm not sure who was commentating on the game on MOTD, but it definitely wasn't David Hamilton, so pick on someone your own size, Mr sports journalist! They were saying Shaun's goal took a major deflection, and that it would probably not have gone in otherwise. I call bullshit on that one, but it was an allegation that was repeated in the News of the Screws yesterday, more than likely by some hulking bully of a print hack who feels safe slagging off diminutive yet highly skillful attacking midfielders. Leave him alone I say! Save your venom for the Ruabon soul dancer. If you have the nerve to call such a man out.

A bollocks weekend all in all. Glad it's over.