Urgh fucking hell. It's quarter to 8 and I'm already awake. I've got fuck all to do until forever now, and yet I'm up at this rediculous hour and already on the internet, blogging about being awake at this rediculous hour. I've got to go out tonight as well, which means by about three in the morning I might finally get to sleep properly, with floods of delicious alcohol flowing through my veins. Maybe a bit of steak as well. Mmm.
Anyway, in light of the sheer lack of news today (because no fucker's gotten out of bed yet) and the fact the football is all over for another year save for England's B-but-not-a-B international against Trinidad and Tobago on Sunday - and let's face it, nobody really wants to read about Phil fucking Jagielka - I've decided to write my feature on the season as I saw it. Largely through a drunken haze, I'll have you know, but that's not the limit of my assumed knowledge. Those that know me will know that I'm exceptionally good at assuming I know everything, even when I don't, so for those that don't know what I'm going to say is going to be complete bullshit, here's my season review of the Premiership (and anything else important) 2007/08.
In the early months we had great hope of a season so different from the one just gone - Man United had the worst start to a season since dinosaurs roamed the earth, Chelsea fucked up in no small measure, and Liverpool had come out all guns blazing thanks to a girly Spaniard with a headband and no thanks to a fat Paris Hilton, who must surely go down as one of the more pointless signings of the season. The Champions League kicked off in earnest and nobody could yet predict the domination that English teams would have over the competition, with the Man from Del Monte paying the ultimate price (well, sort of) for his side's lackadaisical failure to overcome a bunch of Norweigan shitkickers. The fact they have won the Norweigan title six out of the last seven years does not exclude them from the shitkicker label, because they're playing against yeti who, though fearsome, don't actually know how the game works.
The fruit-bearing fancy-boy fucked off into the Portuguese sunset and was replaced by Avram Grant, who's previous career highlight was being mates with the billionaire owner of a football club, and the lofty achievement winning the Ligat Ha'el with Maccabi Haifa. He looked doomed almost from the very start, as the Chelsea fans were waiting for a big-name signing to lead their big-name signings, and instead got a podgy Israeli who hates everything. True to form with the many moron football fans in this country, he was offered police protection after suffering anti-semitic hate mail just for taking the job, obviously from Chelsea fans who would do well to remember that Roman Abramovich is just as Jewish as his now-former manager. You can't say he fucked it all up in the way he was expected to, though, as he managed to take the Premiership down to the last weekend and only lost the Champions League because John Terry can't kick straight, a problem which any of us would succumb to because he's so overpoweringly shit.
Elsewhere, 'Arry hailed the triumph of the little, fan-funded clubs over the billionaire-backed bully-boys by, um, leading his Sacha Gaydamak-bankrolled Portsmouth team to a win over Cardiff City in the FA Cup final. Not that it wasn't an achievement to roll over Manchester United in the previous round, but they did win it by a bit of a flukey penalty and for Portsmouth to claim it was a victory for the 'little clubs' is a bit rich for a team backed by a man who's father is worth so much that, if he was given a trolley dash through Fort Knox, he'd probably only want the paintings. Still, Portsmouth have gotten themselves into Europe with their win, but will have to hope that their UEFA Cup qualifiers are against Jersey Scottish, as 'Arry's bail conditions prevent him from going overseas for the forseeable future, assuming the charges against him haven't been dropped after a piece of sublime police idiocy.
Derby County did what we all thought they were going to do and went down with the worst points total ever achieved in the Premier League, taking the career of Paul Jewell with them after Billy Davies saw the writing on the wall and fucked off to manage Scotland before the proverbial hit the fan. He didn't get the job, I grant you, but you can't fault him for trying. Injuries to Giles Barnes, hailed as a future England right winger, and other key personnel can be partially blamed for Derby's grim capitulation, much like the breaking of Marlon King proved the breaking of Watford not so long ago, but surely it must come down to a failure to adequately strengthen - a grave and fatal error when your defence consists of Big Darren Moore (who could tear your limbs off if you got too close, but as he can't move anymore, you'd have to pretty fucking stupid to do so) and a man that looks like he has a dangerous Crystal Meth habit.
Imagine what they could have done with a certain high-quality England midfielder who left their clubs for lesser climbs last summer. Someone who can play in the middle or out wide, and is a beast from set pieces. You all know who I'm talking about. It's Seth Johnson.
Also finishing at the wrong end of the table were Reading and Birmingham, which means that next year, for the first time in three seasons we won't have to put up with the most boring man in football on Match of the Day. Unfortunately we've still got Mark Lawrenson, but we can always hope that Lineker will slip some amphetamines into his tea, or something. They certainly need some sort of antidote after Ian Wright refused to be the BBC's 'court jester'. Maybe they could buy out Chris Kamara's contract and really push those stuffy cunts Hansen and Lawrenson over the edge. Almost anything would be better than Alan Shearer, who really must have sold his charisma to the devil in exchange for his talent. Honestly, watching the BBC's coverage of the football is like watching four trainspotters marooned at a party.
Still, that's about it. I'm not even going to go into Player of the Season because it's got to be that cunt Ronaldo, and I'd rather stab myself in both eyes than type even one line of gushing praise about the preening, diving, astoundingly good little shit. He'd have been a candidate for Miss of the Season if John Terry hadn't ballsed up his penalty in the Champions League final far more, but he did, so the piggy-eyed little crybaby is assured of one prize this season, even if it is just a vaguely amused feeling of contempt. Goal of the season? I'm going to go for Emmanuel Adebayor's volley against Spurs - clipping it over himself, turning and blasting a volley into the top corner? I didn't think that could actually happen. Real Roy of the Rovers stuff, only with a great big Togolese instead of that badly-drawn twat.
Other than that, very little went on. Newcastle and Spurs talked big and ended up in mid-table mediocrity as usual, while Everton let their football do the talking and very quietly ran Liverpool almost to the wire for fourth place, as usual. There was the seasonly great escape, this time engineered by Fulham manager Roy Hodgson after the disaster visited on them by Lawrie Sanchez and his useless N.I. cohorts, even if Jari Litmanen did prove to be the most pointless signing anyone had ever seen, even managing to spend two weeks out with an injured ear at one point. Of course, Al-Fayed will hand Hodgson a bumper transfer budget of £6.50 in the summer and they'll have another season of struggle next year, as usual, while, coming up from the Championship, we have West Brom, who might survive, and Stoke and Hull City who will battle it out to see who won't be next years' Derby, although it's entirely possible the rest of the Premiership will be fighting it out over only one real relegation place once those two fill two of them. What price Bolton or Fulham to go down next season? Not much, I'll wager.
Still, that's the end of the football until next year, unless of course you're some sort of masochist, or a Spaniard, and will be watching EURO 2008. Personally I think Germany are going to win it, but I don't even want to think about that.
Goodnight.
Anyway, in light of the sheer lack of news today (because no fucker's gotten out of bed yet) and the fact the football is all over for another year save for England's B-but-not-a-B international against Trinidad and Tobago on Sunday - and let's face it, nobody really wants to read about Phil fucking Jagielka - I've decided to write my feature on the season as I saw it. Largely through a drunken haze, I'll have you know, but that's not the limit of my assumed knowledge. Those that know me will know that I'm exceptionally good at assuming I know everything, even when I don't, so for those that don't know what I'm going to say is going to be complete bullshit, here's my season review of the Premiership (and anything else important) 2007/08.
In the early months we had great hope of a season so different from the one just gone - Man United had the worst start to a season since dinosaurs roamed the earth, Chelsea fucked up in no small measure, and Liverpool had come out all guns blazing thanks to a girly Spaniard with a headband and no thanks to a fat Paris Hilton, who must surely go down as one of the more pointless signings of the season. The Champions League kicked off in earnest and nobody could yet predict the domination that English teams would have over the competition, with the Man from Del Monte paying the ultimate price (well, sort of) for his side's lackadaisical failure to overcome a bunch of Norweigan shitkickers. The fact they have won the Norweigan title six out of the last seven years does not exclude them from the shitkicker label, because they're playing against yeti who, though fearsome, don't actually know how the game works.
The fruit-bearing fancy-boy fucked off into the Portuguese sunset and was replaced by Avram Grant, who's previous career highlight was being mates with the billionaire owner of a football club, and the lofty achievement winning the Ligat Ha'el with Maccabi Haifa. He looked doomed almost from the very start, as the Chelsea fans were waiting for a big-name signing to lead their big-name signings, and instead got a podgy Israeli who hates everything. True to form with the many moron football fans in this country, he was offered police protection after suffering anti-semitic hate mail just for taking the job, obviously from Chelsea fans who would do well to remember that Roman Abramovich is just as Jewish as his now-former manager. You can't say he fucked it all up in the way he was expected to, though, as he managed to take the Premiership down to the last weekend and only lost the Champions League because John Terry can't kick straight, a problem which any of us would succumb to because he's so overpoweringly shit.
Elsewhere, 'Arry hailed the triumph of the little, fan-funded clubs over the billionaire-backed bully-boys by, um, leading his Sacha Gaydamak-bankrolled Portsmouth team to a win over Cardiff City in the FA Cup final. Not that it wasn't an achievement to roll over Manchester United in the previous round, but they did win it by a bit of a flukey penalty and for Portsmouth to claim it was a victory for the 'little clubs' is a bit rich for a team backed by a man who's father is worth so much that, if he was given a trolley dash through Fort Knox, he'd probably only want the paintings. Still, Portsmouth have gotten themselves into Europe with their win, but will have to hope that their UEFA Cup qualifiers are against Jersey Scottish, as 'Arry's bail conditions prevent him from going overseas for the forseeable future, assuming the charges against him haven't been dropped after a piece of sublime police idiocy.
Derby County did what we all thought they were going to do and went down with the worst points total ever achieved in the Premier League, taking the career of Paul Jewell with them after Billy Davies saw the writing on the wall and fucked off to manage Scotland before the proverbial hit the fan. He didn't get the job, I grant you, but you can't fault him for trying. Injuries to Giles Barnes, hailed as a future England right winger, and other key personnel can be partially blamed for Derby's grim capitulation, much like the breaking of Marlon King proved the breaking of Watford not so long ago, but surely it must come down to a failure to adequately strengthen - a grave and fatal error when your defence consists of Big Darren Moore (who could tear your limbs off if you got too close, but as he can't move anymore, you'd have to pretty fucking stupid to do so) and a man that looks like he has a dangerous Crystal Meth habit.
Imagine what they could have done with a certain high-quality England midfielder who left their clubs for lesser climbs last summer. Someone who can play in the middle or out wide, and is a beast from set pieces. You all know who I'm talking about. It's Seth Johnson.
Also finishing at the wrong end of the table were Reading and Birmingham, which means that next year, for the first time in three seasons we won't have to put up with the most boring man in football on Match of the Day. Unfortunately we've still got Mark Lawrenson, but we can always hope that Lineker will slip some amphetamines into his tea, or something. They certainly need some sort of antidote after Ian Wright refused to be the BBC's 'court jester'. Maybe they could buy out Chris Kamara's contract and really push those stuffy cunts Hansen and Lawrenson over the edge. Almost anything would be better than Alan Shearer, who really must have sold his charisma to the devil in exchange for his talent. Honestly, watching the BBC's coverage of the football is like watching four trainspotters marooned at a party.
Still, that's about it. I'm not even going to go into Player of the Season because it's got to be that cunt Ronaldo, and I'd rather stab myself in both eyes than type even one line of gushing praise about the preening, diving, astoundingly good little shit. He'd have been a candidate for Miss of the Season if John Terry hadn't ballsed up his penalty in the Champions League final far more, but he did, so the piggy-eyed little crybaby is assured of one prize this season, even if it is just a vaguely amused feeling of contempt. Goal of the season? I'm going to go for Emmanuel Adebayor's volley against Spurs - clipping it over himself, turning and blasting a volley into the top corner? I didn't think that could actually happen. Real Roy of the Rovers stuff, only with a great big Togolese instead of that badly-drawn twat.
Other than that, very little went on. Newcastle and Spurs talked big and ended up in mid-table mediocrity as usual, while Everton let their football do the talking and very quietly ran Liverpool almost to the wire for fourth place, as usual. There was the seasonly great escape, this time engineered by Fulham manager Roy Hodgson after the disaster visited on them by Lawrie Sanchez and his useless N.I. cohorts, even if Jari Litmanen did prove to be the most pointless signing anyone had ever seen, even managing to spend two weeks out with an injured ear at one point. Of course, Al-Fayed will hand Hodgson a bumper transfer budget of £6.50 in the summer and they'll have another season of struggle next year, as usual, while, coming up from the Championship, we have West Brom, who might survive, and Stoke and Hull City who will battle it out to see who won't be next years' Derby, although it's entirely possible the rest of the Premiership will be fighting it out over only one real relegation place once those two fill two of them. What price Bolton or Fulham to go down next season? Not much, I'll wager.
Still, that's the end of the football until next year, unless of course you're some sort of masochist, or a Spaniard, and will be watching EURO 2008. Personally I think Germany are going to win it, but I don't even want to think about that.
Goodnight.
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