Uilleam

Aye, right.

I will say this for Brown: he plays the role of sellik captain to something approaching perfection; classless, graceless, charmless, moronic. I don't think, however, that he is a graduate of the Method School of acting.

I didn't accuse you of "creaming yourself", actually. That was M. Rosseau, who kens you better than I do. I suggested merely that you exhibit a tendency to gush over Barcelona and Messi, similar to that shown by El Chico in his more impulsive, ill considered moments, of which there have been many, and not merely pertaining to football. I explained why Barcelona football club (which is all that it is), and the torrents of over embroidered comment which accompany its every move, is not to my auld Scots Presbyterian taste. Actually, the effusive cant, the self-righteousness, the constant, hypocritical, attempts to seize the moral high ground, and its ludicrous, self inflated, self image, all conspire to remind me of nothing so much as a certain football club, domiciled in Glasgow's East End, and its tribal followers. Apart from that, can't stand it.

Distinctly possible, in my view. I feel that players should not be judged after one season, or, as with M. Dembele, part of a season, but after their second campaign.

Maybe; but therein lies the problem.

I cannot stand Barcelona. I choke on the stench of sanctity which pervades and emanates from this football club. Self righteousness is raised, by the club, its support, and its media whores, to something approaching an art form. It gives me the boke; the dry boke, at that.

Big games coming up this week: On Sky - Tues: Chelsea v So'ton Wed: Palace v Spurs Thurs: Citeh v United My forecast: Many arguments in many houses.

I say that it was a very disappointing result. I say that Barcelona players dive. A lot. I say that Mr Craig, the Administrator, when he airs his hyperbolic, wind assisted views on Barcelona and Messi reminds me very much of Chick Young. I say that that is not -is far from- a compliment.

Great result for Palace!!

Just googled what was on the banner. The QUOTE Surely breaks the Law of the Land, and UEFA/FIFA rules, too? (Thought we agreed on Tav's defensive 'issues'?)

Actually Walker and Crocker duetted: There's a uniform that's hangin' in what's known as Father's room A uniform so simple in its style It's got no braid of gold nor silk Nor hat with feathered plume but me mother has preserved it all the while One day she had me try it on a wish of mine for years "In mem'ry of your father dear," she said And when I put the Sam Brown on She was smilin' through her tears When I put the Broad Black Brimmer On me head Chorus It's just a Broad Black Brimmer Ribbons frayed and torn In a careless whisk of manys about the breeze An old trench coat that's all battle stained and worn And breeches almost threadbare at the knees A Sam Brown belt with a buckle big and strong And a holster that's been empty manys a day (but not for long) When Ireland gets her freedom The one they'll choose to lead 'em will wear the Broad Black Brimmer Of the I.R.A.

The Ashley Fan Club (There is No Alternative, I am told) is beginning to show its face again...... Personally, I do not wish this disgusting, exploitative, fat bastard -a most unacceptable face of capitalism, if ever there was one- given any leeway whatsoever to hoover more money out of the fans' pockets, and from the Club's accounts. The thought of his cheap chiselling sycophants back in the boardroom is appalling. Nor do I wish to see a Rangers' team consisting of a few youths and Newcastle United's duds and dregs on the drip. Why these people are prepared to give the very idea of Ashley owning the Club any consideration, far less regard it with approbation, is beyond me.

Finally, may I remind you all that today's miserable, abject performance has handed these primitive, perverted, and perfidious bastards a "Treble"?

Possibly not; despite William Collum being a Religious Inquisitor at St Superstitia's Bigot Factory, Bellshill, he is hated and despised by rasellik support and its hangers on. He may well be pilloried for allowing us to finish with a full complement of players, which happened, although, confusingly, we looked, for much of the game, like we were at least a man down.

You sure? A bad result versus the fhilth can do funny things to a man's mind, I am told........ As I was going up the stair I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away! When I came home last night at three, The man was waiting there for me But when I looked around the hall, I couldn't see him there at all!.............

Never a good idea,

They were first to the ball, held the ball better, used the ball better, tackled better, and even when pressed, found their man, more often than not. When we got the ball, we lost it in the tackle or mis-passed it; if we cleared it, it came straight back. I am not convinced that tactical shape means much when the very basics of the game elude the players. I did not know what the team was trying to do; more importantly, for 70mins it seems neither did it. Perhaps the occasion got to the players. Perhaps PC called it wrong. All I can say is that nobody, really, got pass marks, so perhaps it is unfair to single out particular players. However, I have to say that Mr Waghorn should perhaps leave for Hollywood where a part in the next swords and sandals epic surely awaits. Personally, I should have started with McKay and Dodoo, but maybe a little hindsight is creeping in, and what, after all, do I know?

We didn't; having a body builder and a headless chicken up front, and standing back and watching the opposition play was not the way to go.

.....And can he chop down forests with his bare hands, flatten mountains with a mere glance, and raise the dead? Can't wait for the graphic novel.

They had 70/75 mins of the match. We had the rest. Not much to brag about, really.

You didn't kill your dog, man, did you?

And that is damning him with faintest of faint praise. The fact remains that he is poor defensively, as a rule, a foible related to lack of concentration/attention, and a rather child like, undisciplined desire to race up the park and score, or assist in a goal. If I was to choose a word for today's misadventure, it would be BEREFT..... Bereft of ideas, of style, of touch, of pace, of skill, of nous, of drive, of ability..... and, thus, leaving the support almost bereft of hope.

Tempting fate, there, with 10 mins until the agony is over.

Aye. A complete redd out seems to be necessary. One question: just where do you stop?

Like they needed the help, the way that our lot is playing.