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  • caddiesandyoung 13:21 on September 29, 2012 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , John Terry,   

    A Real Week In Football – The Harmony Of Scouse & Super John Terry…Banter King 

    Due to the hyper sensitivity around football at the moment, I’ll review recent events with the delicacy of Edward Scissorhands knocking one out.

    We visited Anfield, home of our favourite neighbours for a jolly affair. Before the match there were Hillsborough related silences, balloons and flowers. All was handled respectfully by both sides and the entire match carried on in the same vein really. The highlight of the 1st half was when Jimbob Shelvey slipped and accidentally caused pain to Jonny Evans. Jimbob, being the respectful young man he is, volunteered to leave the field of play and while heading for the tunnel he screamed “I’M SORRY FOR LOWERING THE TONE!” in the direction of Sir Alex Ferguson. At half-time, the players  served each other orange quarters and dilute squash before wishing their opponents  all the best for the 2nd half. Almost as soon as the match had resumed, that delightful chap and friend to DJs worldwide, Steven Gerrard gave the home side a 1-0 lead and Manchester United players, fans and most notably manager applauded with aplomb. Five minutes later, and wanting to keep things pleasant, the plucky scousers stepped aside to allow Rafael to curl in a lovely goal and make it 1-1. (More …)

  • Rob B 21:04 on February 4, 2012 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: John Terry   

    The Ellezed Files: John Terry, T!ts And Trainers 

    The Faithful welcomes Mancunian writer Ellezed to our site. Ellezed is a hard hitting female pipe bomb, who loves her club and worships at the feet of Cantona. Her musings are for ‘adults only’ and are always passionate and opinionated. Catch her new regular column here with us. Warning: Language may well be…..fruity

    During the final assembly of Year 7, as  I sat cross-legged at the front of the hall, waiting for the bell to toll and signify my freedom. I remember slicing a 20p coin from my bus fare into my clammy thigh, and trying not to breathe in the musky odour from my fetid, sweating teenage classmates who had spent the day in British summertime heat, with it’s insufficient air-conditioning. And then in this sea of British Knights/ Troop trainers-with-no-socks, Lynx/Impulse body-spray-covering-up-a-multitude-of-personal-hygiene-faux-pas hell… in walked Mr Collings.

    Poor old Mr Collings.

    Lovely fella, he was. Dead nice. The sort of youth that, these days, I would probably send a Christmas card. He had endless energy and enthusiasm and despite working in a Mancunian Secondary School, never allowed the pi$$-takers (of which there were many) to push him over the edge. We’d get him talking about Great T!ts and Blue T!ts and a myriad of other childish subject matter, and even though he knew the crack, he’d proceed with gusto and act like we were genuinely inquisitive.

    Every morning, he dressed like he’d walked past a charity shop (not the cool ones), dipped his hand in the bargain bucket and popped on what he pulled out. And on casual days (such as this, the end of term day – “video day”) he wore – God love him – the single most offensive pair of trainers you have ever seen in your entire life.

    As I’ve got older, I realise (sort of) that trainers are not a spiritual embodiment of all that is good and tasteful (in a way). We are not merely corporate advertising spaces for Nike and Adidas (ish). And that the guy in the own brand trainers with the word ‘Fitness’ written on in neon green is probably the true punk in the situation (kind of). But nonetheless, I was 12. (More …)

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