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“Join City and you’re dead”

I rarely comment on the game of football and its overpaid star players, but this time I cannot resist.

It’s time Wayne “King” Rooney spent £4.10 on a day saver and climbed aboard the bus for Reality Street, where no doubt he will meet several Manchester United fans who would be delighted to give him a demonstration of accurate kicking.

20 October 2010

Wayne Rooney issues a statement: “I met with David Gill last week and he did not give me any of the assurances I was seeking about the future squad. I then told him that I would not be signing a new contract.”

22 October 2010

Rooney signs a new five-year contract taking his basic pay to £160,000 a week: “I’m delighted to sign another deal at United. In the last couple of days, I’ve talked to the manager and the owners and they’ve convinced me this is where I belong.”


Rooney’s cynical and disloyal posturing is the greatest betrayal


As usual, when it comes to the England football team’s piss poor performances, the best headline appeared on the front page of today’s Sun newspaper:

Sunny outlook in many areas but depression over Heathrow as shower drifts in from South Africa

The kindest thing we can do for these unfortunate millionaires is to ignore them, just as they have ignored each other for the last two weeks. Boys, no one cares about you any more.

Perhaps one positive thing can come out of England’s disastrous defeat against Germany: surely now the Football Association must introduce the technology which will allow match officials and players to understand what Fabio Capello is saying.

(Fabio Capello is on holiday.)

Can the highest paid footballers in the world beat Slovenia?

When you pay someone millions of pounds, they perform better than anyone else, right?

That is fuck you economics, and that is why the UK is fucked.

The England football team have visited an orphanage in a poor quarter of Port Elizabeth, South Africa.

“It’s heartbreaking to see their sad little faces, without a trace of hope,” said Jamal, aged 10.


World Cup 2010: Fabio Capello says his England team can reach final

Football is now another one of the many things that were better when I was younger, i.e. England were not a team of millionaire cry babies who failed to score against Algeria and then wondered why thousands of people were booing them.

Now, to face clutching. This is now a separate art form with the modern game.

In this clip Keita (Ivory Coast), not looking where he’s going, runs into Kaka (Brazil).

Kaka did not throw an elbow, he put his arm up as Kaita ran into him blindly, then grabbed his face and fell down, it was not a foul never mind a yellow. The referee simply wasn’t looking and was fooled by the dive. What I don’t understand is the referee’s reaction; if the player is deemed to have raised his elbow with intent, it should be a straight red for violent conduct – that’s favourable for Kaka as he can appeal it, and on replay would have had it rescinded. However he showed him a yellow, the second of the match. It doesn’t make sense, and unfortunately Kaka cannot appeal.

There was another face clutching incident today in the match between Chile and Switzerland. Again, the referee’s attention was elsewhere.

Girls, girls, it’s called cheating. Whatever happened to the days were players were embarrassed to go down clutching their faces and crying? These are supposed to be the best players in the world, and they pull on each other’s shirts.

I posted this as an antidote to the FIFA World Cup 2010. To the boys of summer!

Black Dogs Defined

This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved and hated, like another: my life was as the vapour and is not; but this I saw and knew; this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory.

(John Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies)

Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not.

(Alan Sillitoe, Saturday Night and Sunday Morning)

This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me.

(Emily Dickinson, This is my letter to the world)

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

(Edna St. Vincent Millay, Second Fig)

R.A.D. Stainforth

I was born before The Beatles’ first LP and brought up in the reeking slums of Jericho. I am in love with a woman called Hazel and in love with her daughter, also called Hazel, both of whom I met at Alcoholics Anonymous.

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