Well, that dearly-held opinion didn’t take long to be abandoned, did it? It’s only been a matter of days since Neo-Gers and The Peeppul were telling us how the referee’s decision should be final and shouldn’t be questioned by compliance officers or anybody else. Although Neo-Gers haven’t released one of their famous statements, The Peeppul want something done (again) about Willie Collum. What’s the point in their handing over £6,000 only for the bastard to be in charge of their last game of the season? One or two of them have been pointing out that it was, for them at any rate, a meaningless game and no helicopters were hurt, but they wanted to set down a marker. Didn’t Auld Sperm Heid say that next season had already started?
The main complaint seems to be that ‘Raynjurz’ games shouldn’t be refereed by somebody that teaches in a Kafflick school. He teaches RE there, so he’s obviously wan-y theym. It stands to reason that he’s going to be prejudiced against a ‘Proddissint’ club. Meanwhile, there’s nothing wrong, apparently, with their games being officiated by Masons, Orangemen and assorted ex-Ibrox season-ticket-holders. It seems they just want referees that are biased in their favour, which, of course, most of them are. Point this out, however, and you’re a bigot, a ‘Raynjurz-Hatur’ and anti-Proddissint.
“Ah fuckin’ hate bigots!”
Ryan Jack was in the DR saying how it’s ‘mentality’ that wins games. Well, that sounds fucking mental for a start. He goes on, “You can’t just turn up and think because you’re Rangers you’re going to win the game.” Well, they’re not Rangers, so he’s on a hiding to nothing there. He continues about needing focus and being switched on and all the other ‘mentality’ clichés he can think of. The problem with all that is that if your team is full of shite players, then all the ‘mentality’ in the world won’t help you.
The mentality needed to succeed at Neo-Gers.
Speaking of shite, the El Guffalo saga seems to be causing confusion among some observers. Steven Gerrard broke ranks and said that the only offer received for Morelos during his (Gerrard’s) time at Neo-Gers was for €3m. Everybody, including Our Phil, is contrasting this with the phantom bids from China. The problem there is that those ‘bids’ happened before Gerrard arrived. What they should be looking at is Morelos himself telling the Sun that there are a lot of clubs interested in him. Either somebody’s lying to him or they aren’t interested enough to pay over the odds. Everybody knows that the thug’s going nowhere.
Sperm Heid’s already let the cat out of the bag in that respect with his ‘plea’ for El Guffalo to stay. According to the tadpole-heided one, Morelos would benefit from another year at Neo-Gers and would contribute greatly to the title that The Peeppul all know is coming their way next season. You can see how that one’s going to be spun in the media come August; Neo-Gers had loads of offers, all eight-figure sums, but El Guffalo ‘chose’ to stay at Ibrox. They’re nothing if not predictable.
Despite bids of over £30m from Barcelona and PSG, Alfredo decided to stay at his beloved Neo-Gers.
According to the Daily Record, Stevie Clarke has ‘won the race’ to be Scotland manager. If ever there was a one-horse race, this was it. Who the hell in their right mind would take that particular poison chalice? The papers are already full of recommendations about who should be in the team and the daft cunt is going to get blamed for playing this one, or not playing that one. If that had been me, I’d have stayed at Kilmarnock and told them to stick their Scotland job. It’s not as if it’s a long-term post anyway; a couple of losses and he’ll be out the door.
What about that last episode of Game of Thrones? I’m not going to go overboard like all those sad bastards, but it was definitely an unsatisfying anti-climax. I mean, you spend all those years getting emotionally invested in characters and then… I won’t spoil it if you haven’t seen it yet, but it was like an exciting, close-run football season. Imagine if Celtic, Neo-Gers, Aberdeen, Hibs, Hearts and Kilmarnock were all separated by only a few points, the top spot in the league had been constantly changing and everybody was looking forward to the run-in to the finish. Then, suddenly, May comes and all those teams have multiple administration events and are docked dozens of points so that Hamilton end up being Champions. That’s exactly what that last episode of Game of Thrones felt like.
“Ah’ll fuckin’ ‘Hamilton’ ye!”
I also watched the first episode of a six-part adaptation of one of my favourite books, Catch-22. They’ve obviously spent a bit of cash and have George Clooney in it. I wondered if it would be better than the 1970 film adaptation; it certainly couldn’t be any worse. They’ve fucked things up, though, with Major Major being ‘one of the lads’ instead of the distant figure he was in the book, while Clooney plays a character that wasn’t even in the book. I switched it off halfway through. Maybe it might be okay if you haven’t read the book. I doubt it, though.
On the Diabetes front, I’ve to see the nurse on the 29th, so I’m in limbo at present. I’ve stopped looking on the internet, since there’s all manner of conflicting information: don’t eat cheese, eat plenty of cheese, don’t eat this, eat that and even folk advising you to starve. In the meantime, I’m fucking scared to eat anything. Even looking at a biscuit makes me feel as if I’m going to go into a diabetic coma or the Diabetes Polis are going to kick the door in. Christ, I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t gone for the test at all. Ignorance is bliss and I’d be happily munching away at my favourite things just now. Der Fuhrer, meanwhile, is determined to get me eating fruit and vegetables. I don’t know if I’ll live any longer, but it’ll certainly fucking feel like it!
“Awright, troops? Ah cannae wait tae next season. They fuckin’ Taigs wullnae know what’s hut thum. Big Jurmayne is styin’ an’ Ah’m gled tae see thit Gary McAllister is daein’ ays best tae make Alfredo stye an’ aw. An’ wae’ve goat Jake Hastie an’…an’…other wans an’ aw. An’ Ah’m sure Mr. King’ll make funds available so wae kin sign Ryan Kent. It’s gonny bae some team. 55 is oan its wye; Ah kin feel it in ma stanes. An’ that’s sumhin’ Ah’ve never said before!”
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