Category Archives: Humour
Is Fantasy Football taking over your life? Are you finding it hard to separate real football from the fantasy? Tom Gaunt has a look at the new obsession with Fantasy Football.
As Silva headed Manchester City ahead in their recent clash with Arsenal a loud cheer went up in the pub. Was I in a heavily partisan venue filled with sky blue shirts? No, it was the sound of people who had decided to make the little maestro their Fantasy Football captain that week, their decision had been vindicated. Similarly, others kept a keen eye on the other screen to see if Adebayor or Van der Vaart were going to show their true value. Surely at home against Sunderland was a banker for Fantasy points, you could almost hear people think. It seems no longer can you relax and watch a game for the pure enjoyment, it is now all about points. Read the rest of this entry
By Tom Gaunt
Early Monday morning Sir Alex Ferguson was rushed to hospital, he was thought to have contracted a debilitating disease. The name of the disease? Wengeritis. Doctors believe he first contracted the disease directly from the source, Arsene Wenger, when some spittle flew from his mouth as he exclaimed “Putain!” at Robin van Persie’s penalty miss. However it was not until hours after the 8-2 mauling that the symptoms started to show. Fergie is believed to have sent a text to David Gill saying “We should sell Rooney, Vidic and Evra. Think of all the money we would save!” Gill immediately put this down to a rare joke from the fiery Scotsman and simply replied “Rofl”. It was only when Fergie started contacting members of the United under 14′s squad asking if they were fit and ready for some first team action that people started to worry. The final straw was when he asked Wayne Rooney about Kai’s “availability” claiming he saw great potential in the youngster, at this point the United medical staff rushed him to hospital for further tests.
Their greatest fears were confirmed – when asked whether he thought if the Arsenal penalty was fair he simply shrugged and said “I did not see”. Luckily for United the antidotes for Wengeritis are easily accessible to them. Trophies are the major cure for the disease and after a tour of the trophy room Fergie was said to be feeling much better. This was followed up with a look at this summers expenditure on new players as well as a 30 minute chat with Ryan Giggs and Rio Ferdinand who reminded him of the wealth of experience they bring to the squad and that the club was in safe hands. Read the rest of this entry
By Aaron Evans
With some frequency many professional football players have been accused of thinking they are above the law. However this group of rapscallions have had to face up to their misbehavior with a stint in chokey. At some point or another most footballers creep on to the front pages of the daily tabs for some misdemeanor or another, be it sleazing up some tart from Grimsby or clouting a fan in a regional branch of Yates’s. But this lot take the biscuit and then punch the very same biscuit in the face! Read the rest of this entry
By Aaron Evans
I often lay awake at night wondering if Carlos Tevez is in fact an 8 year old girl. He appears to be the most sensitive man in the world. I would love to see the look on my manager’s face if I approached him with the possibility of me moving to our Torquay branch, because I want to be closer to my dear old uncle Simon. He would probably burst a blood vessel with uncontrollable laughter.
Have footballers become so molly coddled that they are actually regressing into childhood? Whatever next? Will we be seeing Drogba reading a Beano or Jose Mourinho breast-feeding Christiano Ronaldo? This would not surprise me in the slightest.
There is no doubt in my mind that Tevez is an exceptional talent, as an Arsenal fan I would welcome him in to our front line, however every two years or so he seems to want to play the victim. His contract is so big that he could buy a bedroom for each member of his family per week – why doesn’t he move his whole fucking village over to sunny Manchester? Are footballers so arrogant now-a-days that they expect their club to disrupt the earth’s tectonic plates and shift the continents, allowing their Daughter to see them kick a ball?
I hate to see myself sympathising with Man City but in this case I really do. They have done everything they can to make the Argentinean feel welcome, but little did they know that they were required to rock him to sleep at night and clean up his piss stained sheets when he wets the bed.
I made my first cup of tea when I was five years old – my mother knew that by training me young she had a child slave for the majority of my formative years. By the age of seven I could mow the lawn and hand wash her delicate silk dresses, if I moaned I was taken in to a private room and beaten with 19 centimetres of industrial piping.
Footballers need to take a big step back and realise what a privileged position they are in.
By Chawupi Kalinga a.k.a @theluxuryplayer
for more from Chawupi check out his blog: http://luxuryplayer.wordpress.com/
Embattled Libyan dictator Muammar Gaddafi has made no secret of his support for the beautiful game. He has been particularly generous in Italy, where his Libyan Arab Foreign Investment Company (Lafico) is the proud owner of a 7.5% stake in Juventus, and 7.4% of the the bank UniCredit, who are in effect Roma’s taskmasters. Alas the elder Gaddafi may well at this very moment be seeking solace in the pages of The Anatomy of Melancholy, Robert Burton’s 17th century treatise on the diagnosis and treatment of depression, on learning that not only has his stake in Juventus been frozen as owner Andrea Agnelli tries to backpedal furiously over a lengthy history of complicity between his club and the Libyan leader (including a period during which Gaddafi’s son Al-Saadi al-Gaddafi served on its board), but also that his position as the most famous despot to serve as a patron to football has seemingly been usurped by Ramzan Kadyrov, president of Chechnya and alleged serial abuser of human rights.
Kadyrov is a football lover, and, apparently, a generous man whose mission is to make sure that the sport should be the beneficiary of his nation’s largesse, even if it means his own citizens continue to go unhoused, unfed and unschooled. Two months ago Kadyrov invited a team of former Brazilian internationals, drawn primarily from the World Cup winning squad of 1994, to play in a friendly match designed to show what a safe place Chechnya was provided its leader was allowed to have his way. Kadyrov scored two goals as Brazil’s senior citizens miraculously (and perhaps unwisely) beat the local team lead by their president and ace striker. The portly potentate made a similar gesture last night, this time providing a moment in the spotlight for such impoverished members of football’s underclass as Diego Maradona, Luís Figo, Steve McManaman and property’s Robbie Fowler. Read the rest of this entry
By Tom Gaunt
It seems that every man and his dog has had trials at one football team or another or been “on their books” when they were younger….. Now these range from the plausible skillful Sunday league player who just didn’t quite make it to some guy that plays more like Ali Dia (Saints flop not the Iranian legend) than Alan Shearer. Whether it be a knee injury that stopped them or the lack of desire there is always that feeling of what could have been.
But joking aside, how difficult is it to become a pro, and is it just skill and hard work? My story is that I was at the Millwall school of excellence. This is actually true, but in reality I was a million miles from “making it”. Read the rest of this entry
By Aaron Evans
There is something about growing up that really saddens me. We get to 15 and all of a sudden we become way too cool for everything. We start worrying about what people think of us. When I was 7 I didn’t give a monkey’s what people thought of my hand knitted Mr T. sweater , it honestly didn’t bother me that I was wearing jelly sandals and had hair cut like a pre-pubescent Neil Morrisey. All I honestly cared about was my He-Man collection and my family – everything else was either ‘Poo’ or a ‘willy bum’.
To inject some much needed happiness in to my adult life, to escape the constant financial worry, and the stresses and strains of work and relationships, I decided to re-examine what made me happy as a seven year old. I started collecting comics again and it didn’t really work, I also bought a Dairy Lea triangle and a packet of Monster Munch and naturally it didn’t help. When buying a packet of cigarettes at my local petrol station I spotted a box of Premier League stickers nudging me in the part of the brain that processes sentiment. I took a deep breath and all of the worries of the world dissipated. Read the rest of this entry