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Manchester United fans are - just like Liverpool fans two years ago - starting to go on about various omens that point to them emulating their treble-winning season of 1999. Just look at the evidence:

• They’ve played Italian sides in the quarter and semi-finals of the
Champions League (Roma and AC Milan) just like they did then (Inter Milan and Juventus).
• They won their FA Cup semi-final at Villa Park (vs Watford) just like they
did then (vs Arsenal).
• The season began with opposition crowds booing one of their players
because of what he did at the World Cup (Cristiano Ronaldo) just like they did then (David Beckham).

But perhaps most irrefutable of all:

• A ginger bloke with a squeaky voice dies after watching them on telly
(Alan Ball) just like he did then (Rod Hull).

Chelsea may as well give up now.

 


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Some post-match interviews on Match of the Day are so dull you find your mind wandering off to the most bizarre places. Like thinking what it would be like to fly a plane, for example...

It's not the first time Pardew's been associated with a surprise appearance in a cockpit, mind. He allegedly got the boot from his last job for regularly lowering his landing gear and disembarking up the gangway of one of his players' wives - whilst poor hubby was away getting his gambling addiction sorted out, no less. 

Bet he gave her a ca-rollocking when he found out...

 


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After two 'disappointing' performances on international duty, you would have thought that England's finest would given some thought as to why they were being booed and abused by their own fans. Despite being blessed with brains the size of Pete Doherty's cock, some of them may have come to the conclusion that the fans were frustrated at taking time off work and paying good money to end up watching two performances akin to those of an out-of-form under-nines quadraplegic fourth XI. Playing uphill on a sloped pitch. In the rain.

Some of the players may even have been determined to show their fans how much they mean to them. After all, the fans are the lifeblood of the game, aren't they? (Actually, no. The megaloads of cash regularly spunked up by television companies are. The supporters are increasingly being treated less like the lifeblood and more like a venereal disease, but I digress.)  Wouldn't it have been nice to see England players showing the fans what they mean to them?

Well, Rio Ferdinand did just that:


What. A. Cunt.

I'm surprised he didn't leap onto the poor woman's back and start screaming at the rest of the crowd, having hit the target. These are his OWN fans, for fuck's sake. Nice to see he acknowledged the fact that he'd given someone an enforced frontal lobotomy before running off to argue with the ref.

Back of the net? Front of Annette, more like.


 


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(Click here to see Steve in his full glory.)
"Gentlemen, if you want to write whatever you want to write, you can write it because that is all I am going to say. Thank you"

I dare say they will write what they want to write Steve. Have you not read a newspaper in the past 30-odd years? They tend not to support the England manager very much. They hounded Bobby Robson out of the job, got Hoddle the sack and provided the sting that got your predecessor the sack. Antagonising them isn't the best idea you've had. Mind you, it's a better idea than your favourite one - i.e. crowbarring two identical players into a midfield together, shutting your eyes and hoping for the best. (Sorry, that's unfair. It wasn't your idea, it was Sven's. You've simply copied it as you haven't had the backbone to change it.)

It's coming to something when your tactics are frowned upon by Graham Taylor. A man who put the opposition under pressure by belting the ball out for a throw-in, which meant they would then be under the pump because they had one less man on the pitch. Good teams tend to want the ball, Graham. You can't really score without it.


Is it too much to ask that you actually think up a plan on how to deal with a packed defence, Steve? Evidently it is, as judging by the evidence, all that you do on the training ground is practice your bodypopping whilst fantasising about eating the ball.

Book your holidays for summer 2008 now - there'll be nothing to see here.

 


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Both have ridiculous hair'styles'.

Both are smug twats with over-inflated opinions of their self-worth.

And both are a shade of fake tan that even WAGs would run away screaming from.

Ever seen them in the same room together? Hmmm...

 


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Paul Robinson (not the nasty one off Neighbours, the chubby one with the face of a child about to fart who somehow plays in goal for England) scored against Watford at the weekend, bringing him level with Damien Duff, Nigel Reo-Coker and Chris Sutton in the season's top scorers table.
 
A hefty boot upfield and the job was done. But where was that sort of accuracy against Croatia, Paul? Eh? EH??

Of course, Robinson's got previous:


And he was wise not to go overboard on the celebrations, unlike this fella, who milked it a bit and got what he deserved.



(Yes, I know it's a weak story, but it's the morning after St Patrick's Day, I can't see out of my right eye and I'm typing this with my tongue, so fuck
off...)

 


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