So the euphoria of the last few days following the return of the Messiah has begun to settle down a bit. We’ve played two games now and with Kenny’s genius and the expert input of title winner Steve Clarke we should have had 2 wins from the 2 games. Unfortunately it didn’t turn out that way.
And I know why.
On Sunday Liverpool Football Club didn’t just play the 11 men of Scumchester United. They didn’t just play the 11 men and 70000 southerners either. Liverpool Football Club, the might reds, had a much, much tougher opponent than that.
The man in the black of Satan himself. Howard Melton Webb.
Stevie G’s red card was one of the greatest injustices ever in the modern game. When the card was brandished by Bacon face’s stooge I was so disgusted I vomited everywhere. Sometimes now when I think about it I vomit again. If I could vomit enough to reverse the decision I would. I would vomit and vomit until dangerously, life-threateningly dehydrated - until the enamel had been stripped off my teeth.
I would vomit myself into a coma. For Stevie and for Liverpool Football Club. But the corrupt Premier League wouldn’t accept my sacrifice. Because they wouldn’t dare to acknowledge my martyrdom. It would be too dangerous for them to do so.
You can search high and low, from Lampard’s disallowed goal at the World Cup to the disallowed Tottenham/Roy Carroll goal against the scum, and you won’t find a bigger injustice in modern football. You can include the people of Rwanda and Haiti in that search and you won’t find a group of people more wronged that day than the fans of Liverpool Football Club.
The most down to earth, passionate fans in world football.
The running Vietnamese children in the famous Life magazine photo could not have been as distressed as we were, as we stood in open-mouthed disbelief. Standing and staring at the big screen in the pub unable to take in the corruption we were witnessing. If we had been able to get tickets we would have been there but alas it wasn’t to be and we had to bear the malfeasance inflicted upon us away from our brethren. Our brothers. Our heroes.
Our family.
But, with our legendary humility and famous dignity we left Old Trafford with our heads held high. With our unbounded deference and unbridled stoicism – not to mention our unmatched restraint, we moved on. Moved on together, ready to fight another day with class and optimism. We didn’t walk alone. Because we NEVER walk alone. We held our heads up high and we weren’t afraid of the dark.
Sadly the fraudulent officials and the Liverpool Football Club hating media conspired against us. Chipping away at us at every opportunity. Waiting for us to fail so they could pick through the ashes of our great club – Liverpool Football Club - with their interrogating gnarled sticks. Like a pack of baying hyenas waiting for the proudest, strongest Lion in the jungle to waver so they can pounce under cover of darkness and tear it to pieces.
Nobody could perform under that pressure. No men could be expected to go out in the next game against Blackpool and win under such intense scrutiny. Eleven men and their leader against the spiteful seething mob. A cauldron of hate. A cauldron of fraud.
And yet we came so close. Came so close to garnering an impossible 3 points against immeasurable odds. An insurmountable obstacle. Unpassable rapids of cynicism. But we almost climbed that mountain. Nando and the King had climbed on ahead and set up basecamp using every sinew to haul us closer to the summit – together. But an ill wind had already blown in from the criminals with power in the game. People who are rotten to their very core. And the white out drove us back.
But now the King has got Torres firing again I see bright times ahead. The sun is rising over the blessed, handing down its life bringing radiance. With Steve Clarke at the right hand of King Kenny we can come through the storm and walk on. Walk on with hope in our hearts.
When the flags are waving for the King on Sunday against the bitters the sheer overwhelming wave of emotion will be enough to ride roughshod over even the greatest of opponents. I’m welling up just thinking about the strength of feeling that we will witness. Now I’m crying a sea of tears...... Tears of hope..... Tears of love........ Now I'm pressing my fingers hard and deep into my temples and shaking uncontrollably.............. Now I'm masturbating..... furiously....... With the curtains open. My tears and semen flowing together in a river of reverence.
When the flags are waving for the King on Sunday against the bitters the sheer overwhelming wave of emotion will be enough to ride roughshod over even the greatest of opponents. I’m welling up just thinking about the strength of feeling that we will witness. Now I’m crying a sea of tears...... Tears of hope..... Tears of love........ Now I'm pressing my fingers hard and deep into my temples and shaking uncontrollably.............. Now I'm masturbating..... furiously....... With the curtains open. My tears and semen flowing together in a river of reverence.
Reverence for Liverpool Football Club.
It will be a magical day. A day when the Holy Trinity will truly be resurrected and the world will stand in open-mouthed awe as we set off on a run that will take us all the way to the promised land of the Champions League.
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