13 tanker om “There is a light that never goes out”
Tør man som United-fan åbne munden her? 🙂
Vi prøver.
Resultatmæssigt var det her en sveder – af koloenorm rang – der kommer til at kunne mærkes lidt endnu.
Spillemæssigt var det knap så foruroligende. Groteske og out of the ordinary personlige fejl må man simpelthen sortere fra.
Og tilbage stod to hold der spillede deres sædvanlige fodbold. Ferguson satsede forkert med Anderson der havde alt for lidt tyngde, hvilket igen gjorde at to mand foran midtbanen med Tevez og Rooney ikke rigtigt kom i spil. Og da den gamle endeligt ændrer på det, får Vidic dagens anden hjerneblødning.
Tilbage var kun at studere et stjerneeksempel på effektivitet. På den baggrund var der ikke så meget at sige.
Men rimeligt surrealistisk at observere.
Thomas, det var sgu ironi af af allerøverste og bedste skuffe du leverede der. 🙂
Tak for den.
En fantastisk præstation der blev nydt på Bridgewater her i “Smilets By”. Fik godt nok først en Newcastle Brown Ale i den gale hals, da vores finske ven pludselig stod omklædt og skulle være med fra start…men selv med træben gik det jo. Hvad kan det ikke blive til når Captain Fantastic og “Liverpools No. 9″kommer til at spille mere end kun 9 ud af 29 kampe sammen. Stor eftermiddag 🙂
smölle, tag det nu for hvad det er, en tilfældig net-vidneberetning fra en vild dag ovre på OT. Vil du endelig se dybere og stille skarpt på fordomme om primitiv fankultur, hvad så med at tjekke Goodison-blånæserne ud til lidt sund afveksing!? Det andet her er næsten for mageligt fra din ellers skarpe side…
“I wanted to beat the fuck out of every manc I could see just to do my part.”
Den intellektuelle type… hvem fanden tager dog en trøje på hvis han ved han skal sidde med hjemmefansene? Meget god bekræftelse af visse fordomme, man får her 😉
Vestjydernes sejr kunne jeg bestemt godt have undværet, men selv ikke ærgrelsen over den kan få mit fodboldhumør ned oven på lørdags sejr.
Det må da være slemt at holde med Manchester United. De viser som regel gode takter i løbet af sæsonen, men når det gælder stabilitet og levere noget, når det virkelig gælder, så falder de sammen. De har bare ikke klassen i længden. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha 🙂 🙂 🙂
…and my weekend turned out PERFECT! 0-2 i Parken til de blå/hvide….STORT!
Det var vist et resultat som kun dem med det særlige LFC-blod i årerne havde troet muligt. FLOT FLOT.
Quote from: thredworm on Today at 12:22:42 AM Good evening all,
I’d like to just quickly share with you my story of today. I’ve had a little bit to drink so please excuse any typo’s along the way.
6.34am – I get a call from a friend of mine who I haven’t seen for about 6-8 months. He’s a guy I used to work with and just so happens to be a Man Utd fan. He wakes me up with this call and as I see the name on my mobile I’m wondering just what the fuck he’s doing.
As it turns out, he’s got tickets for today’s game and has had a cancellation, and now he’s not been able to get anyone to buy the spare ticket. So he then asks me the most stupid question of all time, “Would you be up for coming to the game today?”
He tells me that I wouldn’t have to pay for it, it’s just going to go to waste, and that everyone else has had to work or just hasn’t answered their phone. I literally jumped out of my bed. “Damn fucking right I’m up for it!” I shout down the phone at him. He tells me to stick some clothes on and he’ll be over within the next hour. Fucking hell!! I’m going to the game! A quick shower, a shave, some brekkie, and sure enough within the next hour he picks me up, along with three other mancs.
The entire journey is about pick on the pool fan. It’s just mind-boggling the shite they come out with, but I’m happy enough to just be there, so I put up with the shite for the journey, knowing full well that I’m about to go to Old Trafford for the first time ever and have to stand in amongst a shower of these fuckers for the next couple of hours.
We get there and we’re a little early, so it’s a quick pint in some shithole near the ground. Didn’t see what it was called, but it’s basically ALL mancs and a couple of citeh supporters. I was shitting myself at this point. Like a prick I stuck my Liverpool shirt on before I went to the game, out of habbit mainly, and now here I am in a manc pub with my coat done right up to the neck! My mate ribs me a little bit nice and loud “it’s a bit warm in here, why don’t you take your jacket off?” so everyone keeps looking at me oddly. Absolutely shitting it now. I drank my pint nice and quick and now we’re walking to the stadium.
We get in there (jacket still done right up) and I’m about 4 rows from the front, camera side right of the dugout. A fair few families around so I start to feel a little safer in this pretty horrific environment. I also started to think that because there were a few families about and lots of kids that there’s little chance of any sick chants coming up from where I am. Which is just aswell because I don’t know what I would have done if there were.
The game starts, cue loads of shite songs about us, about Gerrard, about Rafa, about Carra, over and over. Pretty deafening, but at the same time you just sit there looking over at the Liverpool fans and thinking “Fuck, I wish I was over there!”, and wondering when this shower you’re sat with will actually sing anything about their side.
Anyway, we start well and I’m enjoying it, smiling from ear to ear at that little turn Torres did when he should have had a shot on his left. Lots of shite spouted around me at that point. “Torres wouldn’t make it here anyway”, “It’s a good turn but nothing Rooney can’t do”, etc. etc. Then comes the penalty. They all jump up and get all excited. Ronaldo scores and there’s the shite “Viva Ronaldo” song. I feel gutted because we were well on top at that point.
Then, moments later, a ball over the top and nobody reacts because they’re expecting Vidic to deal with it. I almost, ALMOST, yelled out in excitement when I saw Torres running on to it. I just knew he was going to get to it. He takes a touch and then BANG! 1-1.
I struggle to hold back my emotions, I’m absolutely over the fucking moon and I have to sit there and not do anything. Heads in hands all around me, my mate gives me a quick look to see what I’m doing. “Fuck’s sake” I whisper, a smirk barely restrained.
Back and forth it goes for the next 10 minutes or so, and then all of a sudden Gerrard breaks into the box and is fouled for the penalty. “PENALTY!” I shout, as you do, and then have to follow it up quickly with another “For fucks sake!!”, all the while almost wetting my pants with excitement. I stand there shaking as Gerrard runs up and smashes it home. Despair all around me, heads in hands. Silence.
Half-time comes and I nip to the toilets. I go straight into a cubicle and punch the air several times, absolutely fucking made up. Outside the mancs are all absolutely furious, moaning all the while about this that and everything. When I came out of the bogs I had no fucking clue how I just got there, so I’m looking around and luckily see my mate getting something to eat. Thank fuck for that.
Anyway, second half, we have to put up with lots and lots of pressure, and I have to stomach looking like I’m excited as Utd attack. Trying to force back the sick in my throat. But then, after what seems like ages, a red card!!! Bye Vidic, thanks for coming!
At this point A LOT of mancs piss off. I’m talking 30-40 around me alone. I was fucking gobsmacked. 20+ minutes to go and you’re leaving?!? What the fuck? But I didn’t care. I suddenly have more space and for the first time that day I slowly start to unzip my jacket.
3-1, 4-1. The crowd has gone. The songs have stopped. The mancs are fucked. And my jacket is off. At this point I was so fucking high I just couldn’t give a shit. And the space around me was unreal. Nobody within 10 seats in any direction (other than my mate and his manc twats). Absolutely fucking bliss. A Liverpool fan, feet up, shirt on, at their shithole, 4-1 up, beaming from ear to ear, proud as fucking punch, and not a care in the world.
The final whistle goes and I can’t contain myself any longer. I stand up, I applaud. A few mancs look at me as if I’ve just taken a shit in their coffee, but I just didn’t give a fuck. One of them called me a scouse charlie uniform november tango, I just didn’t give a fuck. One of them told me to “cover up that shite” I just didn’t give a fuck. My team had just almost made me cry with one of the greatest results I’ve seen in my lifetime. I wanted to beat the fuck out of every manc I could see just to do my part.
It. Was. Fucking. Awesome.
Get back to the car, sullen faces everywhere. More abuse from them lot as I walk along with the biggest grin on my face ever. And guess what? A strangely quiet journey home. No piss-taking, no scouse jokes, no singing, just a lot of silence interspersed with the odd moan or two. But nothing else.
Oh, I tell a lie, there was a little bit of noise when I wound the window down and started singing Fields Of Anfield Road at the top of my voice past all the cars full of mancs. Fucking brilliant!
Get the fuck in.
Jeg lugter et CL-trofæ. Liverpool har vist den nødvendige coolness i de store kampe i denne sæson, i Premier såvel som Champions League. Jeg tror det rækker hele vejen. I Premier League er løbet nok til gengæld kørt, trods det fremragende resultat.
Tak Gerrard for en fantastisk hilsen…
Den sejr vil varme mit røde hjerte meget længe,
må den være en spids sten i Sir Alex ene sko mindst
lige så længe…
Herligt – nu mangler der blot en ting i mit liv (fodboldmæssigt) denne weekend, og det er en sejr til EfB imorgen….
LÅLLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅ og Dossena på tavlen to kampe i træk LÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅ
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Tør man som United-fan åbne munden her? 🙂
Vi prøver.
Resultatmæssigt var det her en sveder – af koloenorm rang – der kommer til at kunne mærkes lidt endnu.
Spillemæssigt var det knap så foruroligende. Groteske og out of the ordinary personlige fejl må man simpelthen sortere fra.
Og tilbage stod to hold der spillede deres sædvanlige fodbold. Ferguson satsede forkert med Anderson der havde alt for lidt tyngde, hvilket igen gjorde at to mand foran midtbanen med Tevez og Rooney ikke rigtigt kom i spil. Og da den gamle endeligt ændrer på det, får Vidic dagens anden hjerneblødning.
Tilbage var kun at studere et stjerneeksempel på effektivitet. På den baggrund var der ikke så meget at sige.
Men rimeligt surrealistisk at observere.
Thomas, det var sgu ironi af af allerøverste og bedste skuffe du leverede der. 🙂
Tak for den.
En fantastisk præstation der blev nydt på Bridgewater her i “Smilets By”. Fik godt nok først en Newcastle Brown Ale i den gale hals, da vores finske ven pludselig stod omklædt og skulle være med fra start…men selv med træben gik det jo. Hvad kan det ikke blive til når Captain Fantastic og “Liverpools No. 9″kommer til at spille mere end kun 9 ud af 29 kampe sammen. Stor eftermiddag 🙂
smölle, tag det nu for hvad det er, en tilfældig net-vidneberetning fra en vild dag ovre på OT. Vil du endelig se dybere og stille skarpt på fordomme om primitiv fankultur, hvad så med at tjekke Goodison-blånæserne ud til lidt sund afveksing!? Det andet her er næsten for mageligt fra din ellers skarpe side…
“I wanted to beat the fuck out of every manc I could see just to do my part.”
Den intellektuelle type… hvem fanden tager dog en trøje på hvis han ved han skal sidde med hjemmefansene? Meget god bekræftelse af visse fordomme, man får her 😉
Vestjydernes sejr kunne jeg bestemt godt have undværet, men selv ikke ærgrelsen over den kan få mit fodboldhumør ned oven på lørdags sejr.
Det må da være slemt at holde med Manchester United. De viser som regel gode takter i løbet af sæsonen, men når det gælder stabilitet og levere noget, når det virkelig gælder, så falder de sammen. De har bare ikke klassen i længden. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha 🙂 🙂 🙂
…and my weekend turned out PERFECT! 0-2 i Parken til de blå/hvide….STORT!
Det var vist et resultat som kun dem med det særlige LFC-blod i årerne havde troet muligt. FLOT FLOT.
Quote from: thredworm on Today at 12:22:42 AM
Good evening all,
I’d like to just quickly share with you my story of today. I’ve had a little bit to drink so please excuse any typo’s along the way.
6.34am – I get a call from a friend of mine who I haven’t seen for about 6-8 months. He’s a guy I used to work with and just so happens to be a Man Utd fan. He wakes me up with this call and as I see the name on my mobile I’m wondering just what the fuck he’s doing.
As it turns out, he’s got tickets for today’s game and has had a cancellation, and now he’s not been able to get anyone to buy the spare ticket. So he then asks me the most stupid question of all time, “Would you be up for coming to the game today?”
He tells me that I wouldn’t have to pay for it, it’s just going to go to waste, and that everyone else has had to work or just hasn’t answered their phone. I literally jumped out of my bed. “Damn fucking right I’m up for it!” I shout down the phone at him. He tells me to stick some clothes on and he’ll be over within the next hour. Fucking hell!! I’m going to the game! A quick shower, a shave, some brekkie, and sure enough within the next hour he picks me up, along with three other mancs.
The entire journey is about pick on the pool fan. It’s just mind-boggling the shite they come out with, but I’m happy enough to just be there, so I put up with the shite for the journey, knowing full well that I’m about to go to Old Trafford for the first time ever and have to stand in amongst a shower of these fuckers for the next couple of hours.
We get there and we’re a little early, so it’s a quick pint in some shithole near the ground. Didn’t see what it was called, but it’s basically ALL mancs and a couple of citeh supporters. I was shitting myself at this point. Like a prick I stuck my Liverpool shirt on before I went to the game, out of habbit mainly, and now here I am in a manc pub with my coat done right up to the neck! My mate ribs me a little bit nice and loud “it’s a bit warm in here, why don’t you take your jacket off?” so everyone keeps looking at me oddly. Absolutely shitting it now. I drank my pint nice and quick and now we’re walking to the stadium.
We get in there (jacket still done right up) and I’m about 4 rows from the front, camera side right of the dugout. A fair few families around so I start to feel a little safer in this pretty horrific environment. I also started to think that because there were a few families about and lots of kids that there’s little chance of any sick chants coming up from where I am. Which is just aswell because I don’t know what I would have done if there were.
The game starts, cue loads of shite songs about us, about Gerrard, about Rafa, about Carra, over and over. Pretty deafening, but at the same time you just sit there looking over at the Liverpool fans and thinking “Fuck, I wish I was over there!”, and wondering when this shower you’re sat with will actually sing anything about their side.
Anyway, we start well and I’m enjoying it, smiling from ear to ear at that little turn Torres did when he should have had a shot on his left. Lots of shite spouted around me at that point. “Torres wouldn’t make it here anyway”, “It’s a good turn but nothing Rooney can’t do”, etc. etc. Then comes the penalty. They all jump up and get all excited. Ronaldo scores and there’s the shite “Viva Ronaldo” song. I feel gutted because we were well on top at that point.
Then, moments later, a ball over the top and nobody reacts because they’re expecting Vidic to deal with it. I almost, ALMOST, yelled out in excitement when I saw Torres running on to it. I just knew he was going to get to it. He takes a touch and then BANG! 1-1.
I struggle to hold back my emotions, I’m absolutely over the fucking moon and I have to sit there and not do anything. Heads in hands all around me, my mate gives me a quick look to see what I’m doing. “Fuck’s sake” I whisper, a smirk barely restrained.
Back and forth it goes for the next 10 minutes or so, and then all of a sudden Gerrard breaks into the box and is fouled for the penalty. “PENALTY!” I shout, as you do, and then have to follow it up quickly with another “For fucks sake!!”, all the while almost wetting my pants with excitement. I stand there shaking as Gerrard runs up and smashes it home. Despair all around me, heads in hands. Silence.
Half-time comes and I nip to the toilets. I go straight into a cubicle and punch the air several times, absolutely fucking made up. Outside the mancs are all absolutely furious, moaning all the while about this that and everything. When I came out of the bogs I had no fucking clue how I just got there, so I’m looking around and luckily see my mate getting something to eat. Thank fuck for that.
Anyway, second half, we have to put up with lots and lots of pressure, and I have to stomach looking like I’m excited as Utd attack. Trying to force back the sick in my throat. But then, after what seems like ages, a red card!!! Bye Vidic, thanks for coming!
At this point A LOT of mancs piss off. I’m talking 30-40 around me alone. I was fucking gobsmacked. 20+ minutes to go and you’re leaving?!? What the fuck? But I didn’t care. I suddenly have more space and for the first time that day I slowly start to unzip my jacket.
3-1, 4-1. The crowd has gone. The songs have stopped. The mancs are fucked. And my jacket is off. At this point I was so fucking high I just couldn’t give a shit. And the space around me was unreal. Nobody within 10 seats in any direction (other than my mate and his manc twats). Absolutely fucking bliss. A Liverpool fan, feet up, shirt on, at their shithole, 4-1 up, beaming from ear to ear, proud as fucking punch, and not a care in the world.
The final whistle goes and I can’t contain myself any longer. I stand up, I applaud. A few mancs look at me as if I’ve just taken a shit in their coffee, but I just didn’t give a fuck. One of them called me a scouse charlie uniform november tango, I just didn’t give a fuck. One of them told me to “cover up that shite” I just didn’t give a fuck. My team had just almost made me cry with one of the greatest results I’ve seen in my lifetime. I wanted to beat the fuck out of every manc I could see just to do my part.
It. Was. Fucking. Awesome.
Get back to the car, sullen faces everywhere. More abuse from them lot as I walk along with the biggest grin on my face ever. And guess what? A strangely quiet journey home. No piss-taking, no scouse jokes, no singing, just a lot of silence interspersed with the odd moan or two. But nothing else.
Oh, I tell a lie, there was a little bit of noise when I wound the window down and started singing Fields Of Anfield Road at the top of my voice past all the cars full of mancs. Fucking brilliant!
Get the fuck in.
Jeg lugter et CL-trofæ. Liverpool har vist den nødvendige coolness i de store kampe i denne sæson, i Premier såvel som Champions League. Jeg tror det rækker hele vejen. I Premier League er løbet nok til gengæld kørt, trods det fremragende resultat.
Tak Gerrard for en fantastisk hilsen…
Den sejr vil varme mit røde hjerte meget længe,
må den være en spids sten i Sir Alex ene sko mindst
lige så længe…
Herligt – nu mangler der blot en ting i mit liv (fodboldmæssigt) denne weekend, og det er en sejr til EfB imorgen….
LÅLLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅ og Dossena på tavlen to kampe i træk LÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅLÅ