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It’s Grim up north


Right then – who remembers Villa 7 WFC 1? Some of you, that’s good. OK then – who remembers Oldham 6 WFC 2? Not so many of you, that’s fine though. If you can’t remember what a totally embarrasing defeat feels like, Breadcrumbs 6 Battered 2 will painfully remind you. To sum up proceedings thus : it was pretty even in the first half, both Shipps and Wu Tang leaping like haddock for our goals. Their goals were just us fucking up big time. As for the second half, well, Grimsby just pissed all over us and deserved it totally. What went wrong? Fuck knows, but on this showing I don’t think Feuer will be missed somehow. His kicking certainly made Sully’s look world class.

You may have noticed we conceded 2 pens BTW. First one was inevitable. Second one would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking retarded – basically, Feuer downed the Grimsby player and got the red card. Shane Gore comes on and instantly makes himself a hero by saving the penalty. The referee’s assistant instantly makes himself a future victim of a pipe bomb [note to Met: joke] by spotting that Gore moved before the ball was taken. Well, that’s a new one on me – I thought that was legal nowadays? Obviously I’ve been reading the wrong soccer rulebook. Needless to say, Grimsby scored and the rest, as they say, is history….


Plus points: First half wasn’t bad.

Minus points: Everything else

The referee’s a ………………. : I sincerely hope he enjoyed his blowjob he received last night from Koppout. I would put something about him dying in a car crash very nastily and painfully but I won’t.

The Omen: The MD15 Funbus to Cleethorpes [more later] broke down on the A3 going. Rumours that a black cat was run over and the engine was given three hail marys beforehand are as yet unfounded.

We are the goon squad and we’re coming to town, beep beep: Hello kind sirs at the Met police. You may be hearing from CUNW shortly. Also, I thought the way that it needed about 10 Humberside police to look at us after the 5th goal went in was a little bit, er, un-necessary. What are we anyway, IRA terrorists*? Members of Al-Qaeda? Hull fishermen?

* – though I have to admit that making comments about pipe bombs above probably won’t help

Spotted: The legendary RJM, not wearing the RJ. And guess what – he’s a very modest bloke. He is still walking BTW.

A song for lovers: Let’s see what came out of the vocal cords of WFC fans yesterday : needless to say, fish took a large part of it up. “Your mum sells halibut” and “You all live on a trawler on the sea” were aimed at the lovely locals. Also given airings were “he’s got the worst bouffant in the Football League” to the demented yarpie, and “You’re going down with the Stockport” to them. Them? Well they did give it back to us with “Are you Stockport in disguise?”, which considering we are more likely to be playing first division football next season than the Hatters is a bit dumb.

Quotes: Admittedly, this section is becoming quite contrived these days as people have wised up 🙂 Therefore, I will publish only this one – “I’m more into receiving than giving” – the Reefer Womble. No, I wasn’t there, but I’m sure that it was taken totally out of context. Well, maybe……….

Point to ponder: Where was KD?

Truth is stranger than fiction: (1) Listening to Danny Baker talking about green oranges. Yup…. (2) Are we the first club ever to have three different goalkeepers sent off in one season? (3) I still can’t believe that game. Really, I can’t. (4) Driving past a Man City car, who subsequently waved the “Koppel Out” banner.

And speaking of everyone’s favourite paranoid, swivelled eyed, I-can’t-believe-he’s-not-human poor excuse of a chairman: He was spotted wearing a yellow tie and a black suit. Great colour combo I don’t think. Sitting with Peter Cork, John Lelliott and somebody else, all of whom looked embarrased to be there.

Anyway, let’s just test if WFC read this site shall we? Charles Koppel is a useless skier. Like you’re surprised. But this doesn’t end there (all allegedly of course, and I severely doubt if I should publish this, but what the hell) – when he returned from Austria and being a useless skier this info about him being a useless skier was published on the web. After reading this info about him not being Franz Klammer he immediately summoned the players and gave them all grief, apparently, for spreading the word that his on-piste activities suck just as much as everything else he’s ever done. One player in particular was singled out – wonder if this reflected on yesterday’s performance?

So then, just to re-iterate : Charles Koppel is a useless skier. Charles Koppel is a useless chairman. Charles Koppel couldn’t even run a bath. Charles Koppel is paranoid. As much as I want the shitty slalom sloper to quit the club with immediate effect, there’s a growing part of me that wants to see him crack up totally in front of our very eyes. Hey, you fucked with OUR emotions, now it’s payback time. Believe it. Oh, and you’re still a useless skier

MD15 Funbus: Let’s just say the following incidents stick out in my mind (in no particular order): (1) Playing mini-golf in Cleethorpes after the game. (2) Ending up in Lincoln, which on a lovely Sunday lunchtime is one of the nicest places in England. About 9pm on a Saturday when I have had 3 hours sleep the night before, too much Guinness, have to work the next day and see us play like wank, it justifies the term “fucking shithole”. Sorry, just needed to say it. (3) Aren’t universal petrol caps lovely? (4) Wondering how people can ever eat fish. Especially looking at the North sea. (5) The look on the locals faces when they were reliably informed that their local team won 6-2. And finally, (6) Nicole’s Massage Parlour. Nuff sed.

Anything else? Not really. The North of England is still a dump.

So, was it worth it? Need I expand?

In a nutshell: What a load of carp.

One final thing before I go and earn a living, Kelvin Davies is probably on his way to Villa. As detrimental to the team’s morale this must be, I for one probably won’t be overly upset at his going. People like Gore and Berti don’t fill me with dread…