My Liverpool Football Club alarm clock stirred me from my slumber as normal this morning. Dreams of challenging for fourth spot and a glory laden future under the stewardship of the great one, gently gave way to the electronic tones of You'll Never Walk Alone.
A deluded Australian this week claimed to be the second coming during an awkward walkabout for the benefit of the press - the gutter press, the greatest evil to ever exist. But all us fans of Liverpool Football Club know that the second coming is already walking among us (unalone). And the hallowed halls of Anfield. And he goes by the name of Brendan Aloisious Pious Rogers.
As I sipped at my Liverpool Football Club official breakfast tea blend, I heard the news that has shaken me to my very core. The victims of the Oklahoma Tornado can not possibly have been more perturbed as I, as the reality hit home. An enormous weather system tearing a destructive path through my very core as me ma broke it to me.
Luiz wants to leave.
I shook my dear mother violently for 11 minutes until her protestations confirmed she was telling the truth. The Premier League's greatest player has been hounded from the grasp of the greatest fans in the history of aerobic organisms by the uncalculable malevolence that resides among us.
And blameless Luiz, the very picture of innocence. As innocent and blameless as an innocent, blameless Chinese baby, has been flushed down the toilet into a shit filled pipe by the very epitome of immorality. When all he wanted to do was remain in the arms of his soul mate. The one who breathed life into him.
Brendan Aloisious Pious Rogers and Liverpool Football Club.
All I can do right now is crawl under my duvet and wait. Wait for news that the tide has turned. The tsunami of hate has retraced its bitter steps. Brendan says you can live without water for 78 hours but you can't live a moment without hope. I will retire to my Official Liverpool Football Club futon adorned with my Liverpool 'Shankly' duvet and wait without sustenance - Hope will be my bread and water.
Today, the sausage skin factory will have to do without me.
Dear, love is a burning fire
Stay, cause then the flames grow higher
Babe, don't let them break your heart
It's easy, easy
Boy, this game can't last forever
Why we cannot live together
Try, don't let them take your love from me
You're so good, can't you see Brother Luiz, Luiz, Luiz
I'm in love, set you free
Oh, you're only looking to me
Only love breaks my heart Brother Luiz, Luiz, Luiz
Only love's paradise
Oh, you're only looking to me
Brother Luiz, Luiz, Luiz
Oh, you're only looking to me
Oh, let it Luiz
I'm under my covers
Brother Luiz, Luiz, Luiz
Oh, doing what he's doing
So, don't leave us Louie
Cause I'm you're lover
Stay, cause this boy wants to gamble
Stay, love is more than I can handle, boy
Oh, come on stay by me forever, ever
Why do they go on pretending
That, you're love is an ending fate
Babe, don't let them steel your love from me
Friday, May 31, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
You'll never walk alone
Especially when you're streaming out to catch your flight back to Norway when 2-0 down at home to West Brom. The greatest fans in the Solar System showing their appreciation for Brendan's groundbreaking football philosophy. I hope they managed to catch his words of wisdom on the radio on the way to the airport.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Brendan Rodgers on defeat to Manchester United and more
Brendan Rodgers took time out of his busy schedule to speak to Bawk at Rawk following the Red's 2-1 defeat at Old Trafford last Sunday.
BAR - Brendan, welcome to Bawk at Rawk. Thanks for coming in and talking to us
BR - It's a pleasure. It's really nice to come in and touch base with you. When I heard you wanted to speak to me I thought to myself, let's run that one up the flag pole and see which way the wind blows. And I have to say that from the get-go I was impressed with your blue sky 360 degree thinking, OK?
BAR - Um, Ok. Now Brendan, a defeat at Old Trafford would normally be a disappointment for a Liverpool manager, but I understand you're feeling quite the opposite this morning.
BR - Absolutely. I thought the players were magnificent, OK? You know, you can't have your cake and eat it, so you have to step up to the plate and face the music. I'm finally beginning to leverage the talent of the players. We lost the game 2-1, but we didn't lose 2-1 in terms of quality. In terms of quality, I'd say we nicked it 3-2 with a winning goal on 87 minutes from Daniel Sturridge.
It's like, I'm not 17 stone and rising in terms of quality. In terms of quality I'm a trim 12 stone with rock hard pecs like Peter Andre in his pomp. When you walk up the strategic staircase and begin to drill down into the details the facts become clear. I take a high altitude view of things. And always referring to our legendary fans - the greatest fans in the history of bipedal species - ensures I never wrongside the demographic. And get away with absolutely no progress and terrible results week in week out.
BAR - And how do you see the rest of the project panning out Brendan.
BR - Well you know, I have my fingers down the throat of the organisation of this nodule. I have a pre-plan and I'm on top of the details with an outlook of cascading granularity. I'm conversating with the low hanging fruit and we're pushing the boundaries. You can't take a tanker approach to a speed-boat change - you need a holistic cradle to grave approach.
In terms of pre-preperation we're not deep in mid table. In terms of coming to the party with a paradigm shift, we've already won a hat-trick of Premier League titles, sent Manchester United into administration, won the Champions League and dug Shankly up, revived him and made him club ambassador.
At this point the interview was cut short as two thick set gentlemen in a Black Maria came to collect the Liverpool Boss - no doubt to whisk him to another high powered meeting.
BAR - Brendan, welcome to Bawk at Rawk. Thanks for coming in and talking to us
BR - It's a pleasure. It's really nice to come in and touch base with you. When I heard you wanted to speak to me I thought to myself, let's run that one up the flag pole and see which way the wind blows. And I have to say that from the get-go I was impressed with your blue sky 360 degree thinking, OK?
BAR - Um, Ok. Now Brendan, a defeat at Old Trafford would normally be a disappointment for a Liverpool manager, but I understand you're feeling quite the opposite this morning.
BR - Absolutely. I thought the players were magnificent, OK? You know, you can't have your cake and eat it, so you have to step up to the plate and face the music. I'm finally beginning to leverage the talent of the players. We lost the game 2-1, but we didn't lose 2-1 in terms of quality. In terms of quality, I'd say we nicked it 3-2 with a winning goal on 87 minutes from Daniel Sturridge.
It's like, I'm not 17 stone and rising in terms of quality. In terms of quality I'm a trim 12 stone with rock hard pecs like Peter Andre in his pomp. When you walk up the strategic staircase and begin to drill down into the details the facts become clear. I take a high altitude view of things. And always referring to our legendary fans - the greatest fans in the history of bipedal species - ensures I never wrongside the demographic. And get away with absolutely no progress and terrible results week in week out.
BAR - And how do you see the rest of the project panning out Brendan.
BR - Well you know, I have my fingers down the throat of the organisation of this nodule. I have a pre-plan and I'm on top of the details with an outlook of cascading granularity. I'm conversating with the low hanging fruit and we're pushing the boundaries. You can't take a tanker approach to a speed-boat change - you need a holistic cradle to grave approach.
In terms of pre-preperation we're not deep in mid table. In terms of coming to the party with a paradigm shift, we've already won a hat-trick of Premier League titles, sent Manchester United into administration, won the Champions League and dug Shankly up, revived him and made him club ambassador.
At this point the interview was cut short as two thick set gentlemen in a Black Maria came to collect the Liverpool Boss - no doubt to whisk him to another high powered meeting.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012
We have lift off
Posted by Andy Badgeman
Just got back from the Aldi and noticed the score on Ceefax. The mighty Reds 5 - Norwich City the canaries 2.
After a testing few early weeks of the season we're finally on our trajectory to the stars. We all knew it was coming. We had faith and we didn't walk alone. And we didn't allow the dreams of our great manager to become tossed and blown. When I saw the result I choked back a tear because I knew that finally Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers could sleep soundly.
Soundly in the knowledge that he'd fully justified himself to the Liverpool family.
The man has had to shoulder almost insurmountable pressure in the last few weeks. Pressure applied by Mr Sir Alex Ferguson and his goons in black. Pressure applied by evil. But he was able to gather the pressure in his generous heart and mind. And deflect it back on the unmentionables - with interest.
With today's result in mind I have decided to spend my Saturday night analysing just why it is that Liverpool Football Club have emerged from the ashes. With class, grace, civility, humility, dignity, grace, humility and no shortage of dignity. The conclusion I have reached is one that will give us all hope for the future. The turnaround is down to one man.
Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers.
The graph below shows the number of times Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers uses the versatile discourse marker 'ok' in a sentence.
When he took over Liverpool Football Club the graph clearly shows that, still finding his feet, his use of the back channelling item started off slowly. But as confidence grew among the manager and the group of footballers, the term became more useful. Helping to reinforce the ground breaking philosophy of the new genius over see-er and his charges. Charges who soaked up the wise words of the great man like a sanitary towel soaking up a light blue liquid in a television commercial broadcast.
It is this crucial use of simple language that is helping the group to mould into the vision of the greatest coach in the omniverse. And is a vital reason why Liverpool Football Club is heading into an era of total football - and total football domination.
The second graph shows just how important linguistics are when educating players.
You educate players. Not train them. You train dogs. And when players don't want to be educated you tell them what they're doing wrong. You don't take them to a secluded wooded area and put a bullet in their ear. You put dogs down. You don't put players down. Oh, well you do......but not in that way.........Oh and you can only trust yourselves......and your families............Oh and don't forget the fans.
The greatest fans in the game.
The second graph shows the increase of inciteful cliche use from Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers from the last two years. As you can see the gems of wisdom, which will have never been uttered before by a human being, have jumped significantly since Rodgers took over. When at Swansea he would only come up with around 17 pearls of intelligence an hour. But since taking over at Anfield his use of philosophical soundbites that would make Plato blush have more than doubled to 41 an hour.
It's a clear sign that the absolutely brand new football philosophy that Brendan Rodgers invented totally on his own is finally finding its way into the brains of the players. Brains that could only hope to contain the capacity for knowledge of the brain of the master.
The brain that is helping Liverpool Football Club turn the corner. Turning around like a 19th century steam ship that had been heading for an iceberg until the arrival of our new Skipper. Our Captain. Our Saviour.
There is no need for women and children to leave this ship now Brendan's here. He is our lifeboat.
To further illustrate the life changing effect Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers has had on Liverpool Football Club I made a sketch of the workrate of our midfield in today's blockbusting victory.
As you can see from my detailed analysis the midfield now covers more space than any midfield in world football. Proving what we knew already. We have one of the best midfields in the world. And when Lucas returns we will have THE best midfield in the world.
The combination of these critical factors can be included in a greater theory regarding the rest of our Premier League Campaign.
Using Gödels completeness theorem assisted by Henkin's theorem, I have computed Liverpool Football Club's projected points tally for the new season.
As you can clearly see from my workings we are on course for a points total of 84.
Not quite enough for the title this year because of Mr Ferguson's antics in last week's terrible injustice upon our football club - Liverpool Football Club. But enough to take us back where we belong. Where Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers belongs. Where billions of fans of Liverpool Football Club the world over belong.
The Champions League.
Reply by Phil Thompson
Great analysis dat der and everything. What you've did there is show why this great football club - Liverpool Football Club and everything - is destined for a great future. I can't see my eyes when I look in the mirror there and everything because of my massive sneck and everything there. But I've got tears welling in my eyes there right now after reading that there.
Reply by Robbie Fowler
Y'know, I've got the IQ of a wardrobe, but your theories are so well put that even I can understand them y'know. I own trillions of houses, but non of them are built on foundations as solid as the foundations of your analysis mate y'know. Y'know, I shed a few tears there mate after reading that making my face even puffier than normal y'know. But it's all worth it at the end of the day y'know because I look like I've just woken up. Just like Liverpool Football Club is waking up under Brendan Rodgers.
Reply by Enoch Powell
I'm a massive racist so I'm obviously sympathetic to the Liverpool way and I just had to register to show my gratitude for your great post mate. May the rivers of blood run red. For the mighty reds of Liverpool Football Club.
Reply by Martin Georgiev
Wow, fantastic post mate. I had a massive dent in my head caused by a paving slab, apparently thrown by a sleeping man, hundreds of metres away in a hotel. But your analysis blew my mind to such an extent that the dent has now been pushed out. My skull is now back to its original shape with no loss of structural integrity.
Thanks Andy Badgeman
Just got back from the Aldi and noticed the score on Ceefax. The mighty Reds 5 - Norwich City the canaries 2.
After a testing few early weeks of the season we're finally on our trajectory to the stars. We all knew it was coming. We had faith and we didn't walk alone. And we didn't allow the dreams of our great manager to become tossed and blown. When I saw the result I choked back a tear because I knew that finally Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers could sleep soundly.
Soundly in the knowledge that he'd fully justified himself to the Liverpool family.
The man has had to shoulder almost insurmountable pressure in the last few weeks. Pressure applied by Mr Sir Alex Ferguson and his goons in black. Pressure applied by evil. But he was able to gather the pressure in his generous heart and mind. And deflect it back on the unmentionables - with interest.
With today's result in mind I have decided to spend my Saturday night analysing just why it is that Liverpool Football Club have emerged from the ashes. With class, grace, civility, humility, dignity, grace, humility and no shortage of dignity. The conclusion I have reached is one that will give us all hope for the future. The turnaround is down to one man.
Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers.
The graph below shows the number of times Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers uses the versatile discourse marker 'ok' in a sentence.
When he took over Liverpool Football Club the graph clearly shows that, still finding his feet, his use of the back channelling item started off slowly. But as confidence grew among the manager and the group of footballers, the term became more useful. Helping to reinforce the ground breaking philosophy of the new genius over see-er and his charges. Charges who soaked up the wise words of the great man like a sanitary towel soaking up a light blue liquid in a television commercial broadcast.
It is this crucial use of simple language that is helping the group to mould into the vision of the greatest coach in the omniverse. And is a vital reason why Liverpool Football Club is heading into an era of total football - and total football domination.
The second graph shows just how important linguistics are when educating players.
You educate players. Not train them. You train dogs. And when players don't want to be educated you tell them what they're doing wrong. You don't take them to a secluded wooded area and put a bullet in their ear. You put dogs down. You don't put players down. Oh, well you do......but not in that way.........Oh and you can only trust yourselves......and your families............Oh and don't forget the fans.
The greatest fans in the game.
The second graph shows the increase of inciteful cliche use from Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers from the last two years. As you can see the gems of wisdom, which will have never been uttered before by a human being, have jumped significantly since Rodgers took over. When at Swansea he would only come up with around 17 pearls of intelligence an hour. But since taking over at Anfield his use of philosophical soundbites that would make Plato blush have more than doubled to 41 an hour.
It's a clear sign that the absolutely brand new football philosophy that Brendan Rodgers invented totally on his own is finally finding its way into the brains of the players. Brains that could only hope to contain the capacity for knowledge of the brain of the master.
The brain that is helping Liverpool Football Club turn the corner. Turning around like a 19th century steam ship that had been heading for an iceberg until the arrival of our new Skipper. Our Captain. Our Saviour.
There is no need for women and children to leave this ship now Brendan's here. He is our lifeboat.
To further illustrate the life changing effect Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers has had on Liverpool Football Club I made a sketch of the workrate of our midfield in today's blockbusting victory.
As you can see from my detailed analysis the midfield now covers more space than any midfield in world football. Proving what we knew already. We have one of the best midfields in the world. And when Lucas returns we will have THE best midfield in the world.
The combination of these critical factors can be included in a greater theory regarding the rest of our Premier League Campaign.
Using Gödels completeness theorem assisted by Henkin's theorem, I have computed Liverpool Football Club's projected points tally for the new season.
As you can clearly see from my workings we are on course for a points total of 84.
Not quite enough for the title this year because of Mr Ferguson's antics in last week's terrible injustice upon our football club - Liverpool Football Club. But enough to take us back where we belong. Where Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers belongs. Where billions of fans of Liverpool Football Club the world over belong.
The Champions League.
Reply by Phil Thompson
Great analysis dat der and everything. What you've did there is show why this great football club - Liverpool Football Club and everything - is destined for a great future. I can't see my eyes when I look in the mirror there and everything because of my massive sneck and everything there. But I've got tears welling in my eyes there right now after reading that there.
Reply by Robbie Fowler
Y'know, I've got the IQ of a wardrobe, but your theories are so well put that even I can understand them y'know. I own trillions of houses, but non of them are built on foundations as solid as the foundations of your analysis mate y'know. Y'know, I shed a few tears there mate after reading that making my face even puffier than normal y'know. But it's all worth it at the end of the day y'know because I look like I've just woken up. Just like Liverpool Football Club is waking up under Brendan Rodgers.
Reply by Enoch Powell
I'm a massive racist so I'm obviously sympathetic to the Liverpool way and I just had to register to show my gratitude for your great post mate. May the rivers of blood run red. For the mighty reds of Liverpool Football Club.
Reply by Martin Georgiev
Wow, fantastic post mate. I had a massive dent in my head caused by a paving slab, apparently thrown by a sleeping man, hundreds of metres away in a hotel. But your analysis blew my mind to such an extent that the dent has now been pushed out. My skull is now back to its original shape with no loss of structural integrity.
Thanks Andy Badgeman
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Joseph Michael Allen
I've just got back from Karate and heard that the mighty reds have signed Jospeh Michael Allen for a pittance. It must be a pittance because I read that Brendan Aloisious Pious Rodgers said that he would have paid many millions more for the lad.
And now I'm confident.
I'm confident for the season ahead. Confident because we now have a manager who can find a bargain where the big boys go shopping. A diamond in the rough. A lolly stick in a dog shit. A malteser in a bag of Revels.
A Spaniard in sheeps clothing.
Once I'd seen what the best young manager in world football could do in our first two games of the season I knew I was witnessing history being made. I knew I was seeing genius at work. Genius that was exploding all over Anfield. Genius that was ejaculating with real purpose and drive around the hallowed halls. And to add to that the best piece of business we've ever seen just proves how astute I am. I'm astute because I'm a fan of Liverpool Football Club.
And we're the most astute fans in the history of carbon based lifeforms.
We are the kind of fans that can take a player to the next level. We are the fans that can lift a human being to heights never seen before. I personally am the kind of fan that can do all this and more for Joseph Michael Allen.
I will start by gently caressing his neck. I'll whisper gently into his ear that we've won it five times. I'll remind him of the day at Chelsea a billion years ago when the King clinched the title. As he lightly moans and melts as the enormity of these achievements rolls over him like a gentle wave on a sun kissed Caribbean beach, I'll nibble his ear and pull him closer. I'm holding him firmer now. As I wrap my legs around him, I forcefully, through slightly gritted teeth, remind him that Liverpool Football Club are the most successful British Club in Europe.
And that we've won it five times.
I can feel him yielding to me as I continue with my seduction. He wants me to take control. He wants me to drive him on. We've both gone too far to stop now. He thinks the time is not right just yet but he knows it's coming. He knows there is no turning back. I just have to make it happen with the right move at the right time. I have to make him want to accept it.
So I tell him that we've won it five times. And that seals the deal.
As he opens up to me I gently find my way and thrust inside him. He gasps slightly at the enormity of my dedication as a fan of Liverpool Football Club and breathes in deeply as my love of the mighty reds fills him up. My enthusiasm opens up tiny fissures in his anal cavity that yield the red of our famous club.
Liverpool Football Club.
And as I begin to pound away at a machine gun rate, I know that this consumation will herald a new dawn for the greatest football club that has ever existed. It all becomes clear to Joseph Michael Allen too. He knows that with me bumming him ragged he'll never want for love or support from us great fans. And that by being bummed ragged by me, he is truly at one with the greatest fans ever known to exist.
And then we do it five times. Just so he understands what it means to play for this great club.
Liverpool Football Club.
And now I'm confident.
I'm confident for the season ahead. Confident because we now have a manager who can find a bargain where the big boys go shopping. A diamond in the rough. A lolly stick in a dog shit. A malteser in a bag of Revels.
A Spaniard in sheeps clothing.
Once I'd seen what the best young manager in world football could do in our first two games of the season I knew I was witnessing history being made. I knew I was seeing genius at work. Genius that was exploding all over Anfield. Genius that was ejaculating with real purpose and drive around the hallowed halls. And to add to that the best piece of business we've ever seen just proves how astute I am. I'm astute because I'm a fan of Liverpool Football Club.
And we're the most astute fans in the history of carbon based lifeforms.
We are the kind of fans that can take a player to the next level. We are the fans that can lift a human being to heights never seen before. I personally am the kind of fan that can do all this and more for Joseph Michael Allen.
I will start by gently caressing his neck. I'll whisper gently into his ear that we've won it five times. I'll remind him of the day at Chelsea a billion years ago when the King clinched the title. As he lightly moans and melts as the enormity of these achievements rolls over him like a gentle wave on a sun kissed Caribbean beach, I'll nibble his ear and pull him closer. I'm holding him firmer now. As I wrap my legs around him, I forcefully, through slightly gritted teeth, remind him that Liverpool Football Club are the most successful British Club in Europe.
And that we've won it five times.
I can feel him yielding to me as I continue with my seduction. He wants me to take control. He wants me to drive him on. We've both gone too far to stop now. He thinks the time is not right just yet but he knows it's coming. He knows there is no turning back. I just have to make it happen with the right move at the right time. I have to make him want to accept it.
So I tell him that we've won it five times. And that seals the deal.
As he opens up to me I gently find my way and thrust inside him. He gasps slightly at the enormity of my dedication as a fan of Liverpool Football Club and breathes in deeply as my love of the mighty reds fills him up. My enthusiasm opens up tiny fissures in his anal cavity that yield the red of our famous club.
Liverpool Football Club.
And as I begin to pound away at a machine gun rate, I know that this consumation will herald a new dawn for the greatest football club that has ever existed. It all becomes clear to Joseph Michael Allen too. He knows that with me bumming him ragged he'll never want for love or support from us great fans. And that by being bummed ragged by me, he is truly at one with the greatest fans ever known to exist.
And then we do it five times. Just so he understands what it means to play for this great club.
Liverpool Football Club.
1954
We look back in time to RAWK in 1954 when Liverpool Football Club unbelievably were relegated from the old first division. It also happened in the same year that Everton were promoted to the first division.
Today is a devastating day in the lives of all fans of Liverpool Football Club. We had to suffer the terrible days of the blitz, when our chippies were bombed all over the show. We had to suffer rationing, when all we had to eat was a bit of powdered egg, and bits of our ration book, seemingly made from the same paper they use for raffle tickets.
And today we lost the raffle of life.
When I had both of my legs shattered by falling shrapnel as a howitzer flattened my coal bunker, my pain was immense. When the doctor, cigarillo in hand, administered a whisky tincture to the terrible wounds I passed out from the searing hell produced by the receptors in my brain. I thought nothing could feel more terrible than those dark days.
But I was wrong.
Because today a bomb has gone off in my heart. A bomb dropped by the Nazis of modern football. A bomb produced by the hateful blighters at the daily periodicals. A bomb that has left this great club - Liverpool Football Club - in a crater of hurt. A crater of shame. A crater of pain.
But we shall return. This great club and its great fans. The greatest fans in the civilised world, will be back once again. To stare into the eyes of the great clubs. West Bromwich Albion, Wolverhampton Wanderers and the mighty Huddersfield Town. We will once again stroll into the privileged rich heartlands of England and come away with the 2 points.
Because Liverpool Football Club never give in. Even when our legs have been horribly shattered and deformed.
We'll meet again,
Don't know where,
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
Keep smiling through,
Just like our fans always do
Till the Redmen drive the dark clouds far away
So will you please say "Hello"
To the fans that I know
Tell them I won't be long
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go
I was singing this song
We'll meet again,
Don't know where,
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
We'll meet again,
Don't know where
Don't know when.
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.
Keep smiling through
Just like you always do,
'Til the Redmen
Drive the dark clouds far away
So will you please say"Hello"
To the fans that I know.
Tell them it won't be long.
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go,
I was singin' this song.
We'll meet again,
Don't know where,
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
Today is a devastating day in the lives of all fans of Liverpool Football Club. We had to suffer the terrible days of the blitz, when our chippies were bombed all over the show. We had to suffer rationing, when all we had to eat was a bit of powdered egg, and bits of our ration book, seemingly made from the same paper they use for raffle tickets.
And today we lost the raffle of life.
When I had both of my legs shattered by falling shrapnel as a howitzer flattened my coal bunker, my pain was immense. When the doctor, cigarillo in hand, administered a whisky tincture to the terrible wounds I passed out from the searing hell produced by the receptors in my brain. I thought nothing could feel more terrible than those dark days.
But I was wrong.
Because today a bomb has gone off in my heart. A bomb dropped by the Nazis of modern football. A bomb produced by the hateful blighters at the daily periodicals. A bomb that has left this great club - Liverpool Football Club - in a crater of hurt. A crater of shame. A crater of pain.
But we shall return. This great club and its great fans. The greatest fans in the civilised world, will be back once again. To stare into the eyes of the great clubs. West Bromwich Albion, Wolverhampton Wanderers and the mighty Huddersfield Town. We will once again stroll into the privileged rich heartlands of England and come away with the 2 points.
Because Liverpool Football Club never give in. Even when our legs have been horribly shattered and deformed.
We'll meet again,
Don't know where,
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
Keep smiling through,
Just like our fans always do
Till the Redmen drive the dark clouds far away
So will you please say "Hello"
To the fans that I know
Tell them I won't be long
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go
I was singing this song
We'll meet again,
Don't know where,
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
We'll meet again,
Don't know where
Don't know when.
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.
Keep smiling through
Just like you always do,
'Til the Redmen
Drive the dark clouds far away
So will you please say"Hello"
To the fans that I know.
Tell them it won't be long.
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go,
I was singin' this song.
We'll meet again,
Don't know where,
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
Friday, May 18, 2012
The man in the long black coat
Posted by Andy Badgeman
I haven’t been able to lift my head off the floor since the news of Kenny’s departure broke. I can’t even find the energy or motivation to go to the toilet. I’m simply laid on my bedsit floor in the foetal position in a pool of my own piss and tears. Crying tears of pain. Tears of loss. Tears of dejection.
Tears for Kenny.
My desolation becomes more intense the more I think about what has happened to my King. My hero. The head of my family. He has been cast aside in the most ruthless manner. And now we must walk through the storm alone. Walk on. Walk on.
In the dark.
Yes, I’m afraid of the dark today. And I can’t see a golden sky at the end of the storm. I no longer hear the sweet silver song of the lark. Because my dreams have been tossed and blown.
When I think of Kenny’s long black coat hanging lonely on a coat hanger in the sacred wardrobe of the King I cry some more. Just hanging there. No longer needed by modern football. Never to be called upon to keep us warm against the icy wind blowing our way. The Baltic blast of Mr Ferguson, the biased media and the evil at the FA. No longer being asked to sit on the enormous shoulders of the King. Shoulders that carried this great football club - Liverpool football club – away from the burning building of pain. A coat no longer being asked to protect the wrists of the chosen one. Wrists that spilled blood for the cause.
Crickets are chirpin' the water is high
There's an adidas coat on the line hangin' dry
Window wide open African trees
Bent over backwards from a hurricane breeze
Not a word of goodbye not even a note
He’s gone. The man in the long black coat.
Somebody seen him hangin' around
At JLA on the outskirts of town
He looked into our eyes when we stopped him to ask
If he wanted to stay he had a face like a mask
Somebody said from the bible he'd quote
There was dust on the man in the long black coat.
Preacher was talking there's a sermon he gave
He said every man's conscience is vile and depraved
You cannot depend on it to be your guide
When it's you who must keep it satisfied
It ain't easy to swallow it sticks in the throat
We gave our heart to the man in the long black coat.
There are no mistakes in life some people say
It is true sometimes you can see it that way
But people don't live or die people just float
We stand with the man in the long black coat.
There's smoke on the water it's been there since June
Tree trunks unprooted beneath the high crescent moon
Feel the pulse and vibration and the rumbling force
Somebody is out there beating on a dead horse
He never said nothing there was nothing he wrote
He’s gone. The man in the long black coat.
Reply by Rick Ticketnicker
Fantastic tribute to the King there mate. I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’ve been crying floods of real, genuine tears since the announcement was made too. My wife and two kids are beside themselves. There is simply no point in carrying on anymore. I’m just hooking up the hose pipe to the cavalier in the garage and then we’re all going to pay our personal tribute to the King by inhaling enormous amounts of carbon dioxide. Thanks modern football.
Reply by Club shop wool
I feel like a poorly maintained brick wall in my heart has been pushed down today. I feel worse than when I had several weeks of intense chemotherapy. Much much worse. I would go through the latter stages of advanced and aggressive stomach cancer if only it would bring the King back. But it wouldn’t. Because the FA wouldn’t allow it to happen.
Reply by Carra’s hitman
If I see John Henry walking through a provincial shopping centre in the north of England I’ll be on the phone sharpish to some hired goons. And then we’ll see who will be walking alone. Through a storm of shattered kneecaps.
Reply by The Steve Clarke Five (times)
My head feels like it’s been caved in by a paving slab today. A paving slab thrown with great force by a sleeping innocent who would later go on to be bummed all over the show. I hope when the pain disappates, that my deformed cranium will be a reminder to everyone that this is not the Liverpool way.
Reply by Phil Thompson
When they did that. What they done there. Well I was amazed. And if they done that what they did there to help improve Liverpool Football Club and everything. Well I think what they did there, they did that there wrong. What they done. Because what they did was not right. And I think what they done there. What they did to Kenny and everything. Was not right. It was wrong.
I haven’t been able to lift my head off the floor since the news of Kenny’s departure broke. I can’t even find the energy or motivation to go to the toilet. I’m simply laid on my bedsit floor in the foetal position in a pool of my own piss and tears. Crying tears of pain. Tears of loss. Tears of dejection.
Tears for Kenny.
My desolation becomes more intense the more I think about what has happened to my King. My hero. The head of my family. He has been cast aside in the most ruthless manner. And now we must walk through the storm alone. Walk on. Walk on.
In the dark.
Yes, I’m afraid of the dark today. And I can’t see a golden sky at the end of the storm. I no longer hear the sweet silver song of the lark. Because my dreams have been tossed and blown.
When I think of Kenny’s long black coat hanging lonely on a coat hanger in the sacred wardrobe of the King I cry some more. Just hanging there. No longer needed by modern football. Never to be called upon to keep us warm against the icy wind blowing our way. The Baltic blast of Mr Ferguson, the biased media and the evil at the FA. No longer being asked to sit on the enormous shoulders of the King. Shoulders that carried this great football club - Liverpool football club – away from the burning building of pain. A coat no longer being asked to protect the wrists of the chosen one. Wrists that spilled blood for the cause.
Crickets are chirpin' the water is high
There's an adidas coat on the line hangin' dry
Window wide open African trees
Bent over backwards from a hurricane breeze
Not a word of goodbye not even a note
He’s gone. The man in the long black coat.
Somebody seen him hangin' around
At JLA on the outskirts of town
He looked into our eyes when we stopped him to ask
If he wanted to stay he had a face like a mask
Somebody said from the bible he'd quote
There was dust on the man in the long black coat.
Preacher was talking there's a sermon he gave
He said every man's conscience is vile and depraved
You cannot depend on it to be your guide
When it's you who must keep it satisfied
It ain't easy to swallow it sticks in the throat
We gave our heart to the man in the long black coat.
There are no mistakes in life some people say
It is true sometimes you can see it that way
But people don't live or die people just float
We stand with the man in the long black coat.
There's smoke on the water it's been there since June
Tree trunks unprooted beneath the high crescent moon
Feel the pulse and vibration and the rumbling force
Somebody is out there beating on a dead horse
He never said nothing there was nothing he wrote
He’s gone. The man in the long black coat.
Reply by Rick Ticketnicker
Fantastic tribute to the King there mate. I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’ve been crying floods of real, genuine tears since the announcement was made too. My wife and two kids are beside themselves. There is simply no point in carrying on anymore. I’m just hooking up the hose pipe to the cavalier in the garage and then we’re all going to pay our personal tribute to the King by inhaling enormous amounts of carbon dioxide. Thanks modern football.
Reply by Club shop wool
I feel like a poorly maintained brick wall in my heart has been pushed down today. I feel worse than when I had several weeks of intense chemotherapy. Much much worse. I would go through the latter stages of advanced and aggressive stomach cancer if only it would bring the King back. But it wouldn’t. Because the FA wouldn’t allow it to happen.
Reply by Carra’s hitman
If I see John Henry walking through a provincial shopping centre in the north of England I’ll be on the phone sharpish to some hired goons. And then we’ll see who will be walking alone. Through a storm of shattered kneecaps.
Reply by The Steve Clarke Five (times)
My head feels like it’s been caved in by a paving slab today. A paving slab thrown with great force by a sleeping innocent who would later go on to be bummed all over the show. I hope when the pain disappates, that my deformed cranium will be a reminder to everyone that this is not the Liverpool way.
Reply by Phil Thompson
When they did that. What they done there. Well I was amazed. And if they done that what they did there to help improve Liverpool Football Club and everything. Well I think what they did there, they did that there wrong. What they done. Because what they did was not right. And I think what they done there. What they did to Kenny and everything. Was not right. It was wrong.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Thoughts turning to Rafa
When Rafa was forced out of our great club - Liverpool Football Club - by those whose names I cannot bear to countenance, I cried for 14 hours. And sobbed for 12 more. I felt emptier than when my ex wife left me for another man. More disappointed than when my 3 year old son began calling that man daddy. And lonelier than when nobody turned up to my 43rd birthday party.
Because I walked alone. Through a storm.
When I had finished crying and sobbing for a total of 26 hours I vomited for 9 hours. I was so disgusted with what those bastards had done to my Rafa that my stomach could not hold the super noodles and pickled onion discos I had feasted on after the horrendous news of rafa's departure cristalized. It was my last supper if you will.
And through the torture I began to have an epiphany.
As my vomit turned to the red of our great football club - Liverpool Football Club - I began to stir myself from my melancholy. As I was regurgitating the glory of my last supper, I began regurgitating the glory Rafa brought us in my mind. He had taken us to the summit of world football on a shoestring net spend. We had truly looked into the eyes of the football gods.
And got into their heads.
It was then that I realised. Rafa may be gone but he is still here. All around us. He is everywhere. I feel his love now as if he was next to me in bed. I feel his presence. I feel his touch. I feel his breath.
Como podria ser verdad
Last night I dreamt of Benitez
Just like he'd never gone, I knew the song
A young man with eyes like the desert
It all seems like yesterday, not far away
Chorus:
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
I fell in love with Benitez
Warm wind carried on the sea, playing 4-3-3
Te dijo te amo
I prayed that the days would last
They went so fast
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
I'm in my armchair, I'm watching on sky
When it's time for the adverts I fast forward them by
Clapping at the telly, then down to the pub
Where a club loves a boy, and a boy.......loves his club
Last night I dreamt of Benitez
It all seems like yesterday, not far away
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
Ta-la-ta-ta-taa
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
La-la-Rafa-la-la-la-laaa
Te dijo te amo
La-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
Spoken: El dijo que te ama
Pa-pa-la-pa-pa pa-pa-pa-pahaaa
Aha, aha-ahaaa
Rafael Benitez
Rafa, aha-ahaaa...
Because I walked alone. Through a storm.
When I had finished crying and sobbing for a total of 26 hours I vomited for 9 hours. I was so disgusted with what those bastards had done to my Rafa that my stomach could not hold the super noodles and pickled onion discos I had feasted on after the horrendous news of rafa's departure cristalized. It was my last supper if you will.
And through the torture I began to have an epiphany.
As my vomit turned to the red of our great football club - Liverpool Football Club - I began to stir myself from my melancholy. As I was regurgitating the glory of my last supper, I began regurgitating the glory Rafa brought us in my mind. He had taken us to the summit of world football on a shoestring net spend. We had truly looked into the eyes of the football gods.
And got into their heads.
It was then that I realised. Rafa may be gone but he is still here. All around us. He is everywhere. I feel his love now as if he was next to me in bed. I feel his presence. I feel his touch. I feel his breath.
Como podria ser verdad
Last night I dreamt of Benitez
Just like he'd never gone, I knew the song
A young man with eyes like the desert
It all seems like yesterday, not far away
Chorus:
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
I fell in love with Benitez
Warm wind carried on the sea, playing 4-3-3
Te dijo te amo
I prayed that the days would last
They went so fast
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
I'm in my armchair, I'm watching on sky
When it's time for the adverts I fast forward them by
Clapping at the telly, then down to the pub
Where a club loves a boy, and a boy.......loves his club
Last night I dreamt of Benitez
It all seems like yesterday, not far away
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
Ta-la-ta-ta-taa
Torres running like the breeze
All our midfield wild and free
This is where I long to be
Rafael Benitez
And when the redmen played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
My Spanish lullaby
La-la-Rafa-la-la-la-laaa
Te dijo te amo
La-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
Spoken: El dijo que te ama
Pa-pa-la-pa-pa pa-pa-pa-pahaaa
Aha, aha-ahaaa
Rafael Benitez
Rafa, aha-ahaaa...
Monday, February 13, 2012
Dear Kenny
So now we’ve seen just what the media and football authorities are made of. They’ve conspired to humiliate a football icon. Don’t tell me they didn’t all collude in the lead up to the match. Don’t tell me they didn’t have all this planned in advance. And don’t tell me the King - MY King - deserved any of this.
Whisky nose and all his mates at the FA have certainly done their jobs. It makes me so so angry that I just want to hit the wall. And keep hitting it until I see the red of our great club.
All over my hands and bedroom wall.
When my 3 year old came in my room today – a room adorned with pictures of the King in his pomp - and asked me what was wrong I was so choked up I couldn’t answer him. I had to turn away and push him out of the room to avoid him seeing daddy cry. When he came to me several hours later, sick with hunger and a full nappy causing him severe discomfort, I had to smile. It brought to mind all the shit we’ve had to carry around for so so long and how it’s causing this great football club – Liverpool Football Club - unimaginable pain.
And how we have been starved of justice throughout this whole torrid affair.
As my little innocent son cried in front of me, confused and hurting, I finally relented and let the pain and hurt spill out. He will only have to wait until his mother and her new husband pick him up on Monday morning for love and sustenance. But how long will we have to wait. The greatest, most knowledgable fans ever to exist and the most dignified, honourable football club to ever play the game.
What those bastards have done to my King is too much for me to take. If it is affecting my family life so much, imagine what it’s doing to Kenny.
There is only one solution that I can see that will bring this terrible situation for Liverpool Football Club to a satisfactory conclusion. With everyone attacking the man I love and the football club I live for, drastic measures are required.
Measures that the football authorities would simply buckle under.
To alleviate some of the pressure on the King I propose bringing back Rafa as his right hand man to deal with all this. With Rafa at the right hand of the King and able to deal with the gutter press with his customary dignity, not to mention his legendary grace and unbending nobleness, King Kenny would be able to concentrate on our push for the title. Steve Clarke would move to the left hand of the king. We could then bring Gerard Houllier back to sit at the King’s right elbow with Roy Evans brought in to take his place at the King’s left elbow. Kevin Keen and John Achterberg could take a wrist each.
An undeniable force in the King’s arms that would undoubtedly sweep us to greatness.
Just imagine the look on bacon face’s grill when he hears of this move. He wouldn’t know how to deal with so many legends in one place. His friends at the FA would look pretty damn stupid if we pulled this off. And anyone who has ever doubted us will have egg all over their faces. It would certainly give the Manc stooges at Slysports plenty to report on their poisonous 24 hour news channel.
Nobody would doubt us anymore. We would be on the crest of a wave that would bring silverware back to Anfield and atonement from every quarter. Because when you look into the eyes of greatness, all the propaganda that the sheeple have eaten up simply dissipates.
And all that is left his a humbled reverence for Liverpool Football Club
Whisky nose and all his mates at the FA have certainly done their jobs. It makes me so so angry that I just want to hit the wall. And keep hitting it until I see the red of our great club.
All over my hands and bedroom wall.
When my 3 year old came in my room today – a room adorned with pictures of the King in his pomp - and asked me what was wrong I was so choked up I couldn’t answer him. I had to turn away and push him out of the room to avoid him seeing daddy cry. When he came to me several hours later, sick with hunger and a full nappy causing him severe discomfort, I had to smile. It brought to mind all the shit we’ve had to carry around for so so long and how it’s causing this great football club – Liverpool Football Club - unimaginable pain.
And how we have been starved of justice throughout this whole torrid affair.
As my little innocent son cried in front of me, confused and hurting, I finally relented and let the pain and hurt spill out. He will only have to wait until his mother and her new husband pick him up on Monday morning for love and sustenance. But how long will we have to wait. The greatest, most knowledgable fans ever to exist and the most dignified, honourable football club to ever play the game.
What those bastards have done to my King is too much for me to take. If it is affecting my family life so much, imagine what it’s doing to Kenny.
There is only one solution that I can see that will bring this terrible situation for Liverpool Football Club to a satisfactory conclusion. With everyone attacking the man I love and the football club I live for, drastic measures are required.
Measures that the football authorities would simply buckle under.
To alleviate some of the pressure on the King I propose bringing back Rafa as his right hand man to deal with all this. With Rafa at the right hand of the King and able to deal with the gutter press with his customary dignity, not to mention his legendary grace and unbending nobleness, King Kenny would be able to concentrate on our push for the title. Steve Clarke would move to the left hand of the king. We could then bring Gerard Houllier back to sit at the King’s right elbow with Roy Evans brought in to take his place at the King’s left elbow. Kevin Keen and John Achterberg could take a wrist each.
An undeniable force in the King’s arms that would undoubtedly sweep us to greatness.
Just imagine the look on bacon face’s grill when he hears of this move. He wouldn’t know how to deal with so many legends in one place. His friends at the FA would look pretty damn stupid if we pulled this off. And anyone who has ever doubted us will have egg all over their faces. It would certainly give the Manc stooges at Slysports plenty to report on their poisonous 24 hour news channel.
Nobody would doubt us anymore. We would be on the crest of a wave that would bring silverware back to Anfield and atonement from every quarter. Because when you look into the eyes of greatness, all the propaganda that the sheeple have eaten up simply dissipates.
And all that is left his a humbled reverence for Liverpool Football Club
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
I received an email today
From a life long Liverpool fan. His comments humbled me and made me realise the power of the Liverpool family.
<Wtf is this blog? Are you taking the piss? I've already put the word out and we're currently organising an email campaign to have this blog shut down. It is disrespectful to the millions of proud fans of Liverpool Football club the world over. If you persist with this abhorrence we will hound you until you are forced to take action. Be warned, the Liverpool family is not a group you want to get on the wrong side of. We have taken on more formidable foes than you and come out on the winning side!>
Reply by BawkatRawk
<Dear xxxxxxxx
You're right. I'm sorry if my blog posts are offensive to you or you've taken them the wrong way. It's just that I have such strong feelings for Liverpool football Club, King Kenny and the Liverpool family that sometimes I get carried away - I am often brought to the brink of orgasm by the strength of my feelings and feel the need to release them before I release something marginally less sticky and disgusting.
As I lay helpless before you like a cowering Bulgarian, please smash the paving slab of forgiveness over my head, before shinning up the drain pipe of absolution, and taking your place where you belong - and were all along - in the bed of righteousness. >
<Wtf is this blog? Are you taking the piss? I've already put the word out and we're currently organising an email campaign to have this blog shut down. It is disrespectful to the millions of proud fans of Liverpool Football club the world over. If you persist with this abhorrence we will hound you until you are forced to take action. Be warned, the Liverpool family is not a group you want to get on the wrong side of. We have taken on more formidable foes than you and come out on the winning side!>
Reply by BawkatRawk
<Dear xxxxxxxx
You're right. I'm sorry if my blog posts are offensive to you or you've taken them the wrong way. It's just that I have such strong feelings for Liverpool football Club, King Kenny and the Liverpool family that sometimes I get carried away - I am often brought to the brink of orgasm by the strength of my feelings and feel the need to release them before I release something marginally less sticky and disgusting.
As I lay helpless before you like a cowering Bulgarian, please smash the paving slab of forgiveness over my head, before shinning up the drain pipe of absolution, and taking your place where you belong - and were all along - in the bed of righteousness. >
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Charles Graham Adam
When the news came through on RAWK that Charlie Adam has signed for Liverpool Football club I was elated. I felt such a feeling of joy in my heart that I had a pseudo religious experience. Into a large man-sized tissue, that I had - at the last minute - found in my Wrangler jeans.
And then it all became so clear.
I suddenly felt at one with the world. I felt that my body and soul were part of a greater system of existence. I felt that I was on a higher plane and that nothing could ever supersede this feeling. Not even being given a large multi-pack of Flamin' hot Monster Munch. It was then that I truly began to understand what it is to be human.
And what it is about Liverpool Football Club that transends the mortal human soul.
You see, Charlie Adam did not have control over his feelings. Like a teenager in the flush of first love, Charles Graham Adam's head was in the clouds the moment he heard of the King's interest. He could not sleep. He could not eat. He could only think of the king and Liverpool Football Club.
Like a moth drawn to the light, like a bored man drawn to midget porn on the internet, and like a salmon drawn upstream to the calm pools of the mating chamber, Charles Graham Adam was drawn to the hallowed halls of Anfield.
Into the chamber of the King.
As King Kenny delicately, yet masterfully, intricately yet forcefully, passively yet directly assembles a title winning side he somehow takes on an ethereal quality. He rises above the minnions, scratching around at ground level for the dregs of the football world. He rises above us all and we raise our faces to him in trembling awe.
Ready for what He has to give us. All over our grills.
I pray to him and give thanks.
Dear King Kenny
This Gift...
Thank you for this gift,
Which you've bestowed to us,
This gift is life,
Life Eternally
Creation by your hands,
And the blood of your wrist.
I beg of you,
To live your life,
For all of those,
Who've been deprived.
I beg of you,
To live your life,
For those who've cried,
and been deprived
Of This precious gift,
The most precious gift,
The gift of Charles Graham Adam
And then it all became so clear.
I suddenly felt at one with the world. I felt that my body and soul were part of a greater system of existence. I felt that I was on a higher plane and that nothing could ever supersede this feeling. Not even being given a large multi-pack of Flamin' hot Monster Munch. It was then that I truly began to understand what it is to be human.
And what it is about Liverpool Football Club that transends the mortal human soul.
You see, Charlie Adam did not have control over his feelings. Like a teenager in the flush of first love, Charles Graham Adam's head was in the clouds the moment he heard of the King's interest. He could not sleep. He could not eat. He could only think of the king and Liverpool Football Club.
Like a moth drawn to the light, like a bored man drawn to midget porn on the internet, and like a salmon drawn upstream to the calm pools of the mating chamber, Charles Graham Adam was drawn to the hallowed halls of Anfield.
Into the chamber of the King.
As King Kenny delicately, yet masterfully, intricately yet forcefully, passively yet directly assembles a title winning side he somehow takes on an ethereal quality. He rises above the minnions, scratching around at ground level for the dregs of the football world. He rises above us all and we raise our faces to him in trembling awe.
Ready for what He has to give us. All over our grills.
I pray to him and give thanks.
Dear King Kenny
This Gift...
Thank you for this gift,
Which you've bestowed to us,
This gift is life,
Life Eternally
Creation by your hands,
And the blood of your wrist.
I beg of you,
To live your life,
For all of those,
Who've been deprived.
I beg of you,
To live your life,
For those who've cried,
and been deprived
Of This precious gift,
The most precious gift,
The gift of Charles Graham Adam
Stevie G laaaaaaa to miss tour of Asia
When I heard that Stevie G will miss the tour of Asia I was worried. I haven't been able to sleep thinking about it. About the fact that our talisman, our leader, our hero, the pinacle of all of our hopes and dreams - may be unable to carry on.
Just as Liverpool football club embark on a season that will bring the Premier League trophy to Anfield I'm concerned. I'm more concerned than I was when the surgeons told me my son would never walk again. He was knocked down on the high street of a small northern provincial town completely unassociated with Liverpool Football Club. But his tears that day remind me of my own now as the gravity of this potential situation sit heavily on my already burdened shoulders.
My son never did walk again - but that crushing event can get nowhere near the enormity of the fact that the great Stevie G - all power, drive and stylish hair - may be coming to the end of his glorious medal laden career. As I sit with a heavy heart I cannot summon the energy to lift my son out of his wheelchair to administer his daily wash. As he looks at me with confusion in a pile of his own faeces I know that somewhere inside his damaged brain he understands his father's pain. And that makes me proud to be his father - and a fan of Liverpool football club.
But then I stare at pictures of the King. As my tears tumble upon his glorious image I sense that He can turn this all around. Just like a newborn baby struggling to survive, skin on skin contact from the mother can breathe new life into the child.
And King Kenny and Stevie G have a bond stronger than that between mother and child.
So dear King Kenny. Please, for the love of Stevie G tear off your shirt and expose your bare chest. Take Stevie G's groin and press it against the warmth of your body. Gently cradle the injured groin. Breathe new life into the injured area. Perhaps, take your healing hand and gently cup Sir Stevie of Gerrard. Cup him until the pain and tears go away.
Cup him until you launch his ejaculate far enough to usher in a new era for Steven Gerrard.
And a new era for Liverpool Football Club.
Kenny's hands are kind hands,
doing good to all,
Healing pain and sickness,
blessing Stevie's balls,
Washing tired feet and saving
those who fall;
Kenny's hands are kind hands,
doing good to all.
Take my hands, King Kenny,
let them work for you;
Make them strong and gentle,
kind in all I do;
Let me watch you, Kenny,
till I’m gentle too,
Till my hands are kind hands,
quick to work for you.
Just as Liverpool football club embark on a season that will bring the Premier League trophy to Anfield I'm concerned. I'm more concerned than I was when the surgeons told me my son would never walk again. He was knocked down on the high street of a small northern provincial town completely unassociated with Liverpool Football Club. But his tears that day remind me of my own now as the gravity of this potential situation sit heavily on my already burdened shoulders.
My son never did walk again - but that crushing event can get nowhere near the enormity of the fact that the great Stevie G - all power, drive and stylish hair - may be coming to the end of his glorious medal laden career. As I sit with a heavy heart I cannot summon the energy to lift my son out of his wheelchair to administer his daily wash. As he looks at me with confusion in a pile of his own faeces I know that somewhere inside his damaged brain he understands his father's pain. And that makes me proud to be his father - and a fan of Liverpool football club.
But then I stare at pictures of the King. As my tears tumble upon his glorious image I sense that He can turn this all around. Just like a newborn baby struggling to survive, skin on skin contact from the mother can breathe new life into the child.
And King Kenny and Stevie G have a bond stronger than that between mother and child.
So dear King Kenny. Please, for the love of Stevie G tear off your shirt and expose your bare chest. Take Stevie G's groin and press it against the warmth of your body. Gently cradle the injured groin. Breathe new life into the injured area. Perhaps, take your healing hand and gently cup Sir Stevie of Gerrard. Cup him until the pain and tears go away.
Cup him until you launch his ejaculate far enough to usher in a new era for Steven Gerrard.
And a new era for Liverpool Football Club.
Kenny's hands are kind hands,
doing good to all,
Healing pain and sickness,
blessing Stevie's balls,
Washing tired feet and saving
those who fall;
Kenny's hands are kind hands,
doing good to all.
Take my hands, King Kenny,
let them work for you;
Make them strong and gentle,
kind in all I do;
Let me watch you, Kenny,
till I’m gentle too,
Till my hands are kind hands,
quick to work for you.
Monday, May 2, 2011
The Power of RAWK
{EAV_BLOG_VER:b3314518a9abd38b}
When I saw RAWK for the first time, I mean, I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t believe the strength of emotion that I witnessed emanating from this beacon of the internet. It was a light that shone so brightly, that my disgust at the mawkishness of the content was blitzed by a tirade of righteousness – that was enough to power the sun.
And that’s important.
Because the power of the sun is a force so bewildering,
that metaphors about its power,
expressed by Liverpool fans about largely meaningless situations,
can be forged with an energy so encompassing,
that the meaningless event itself,
becomes so overbearingly meaningful,
that the people expressing the emotion,
can become so deluded,
that they keep a sentence going on way too long.
Because they’re whipped up into a frenzy of orgasmic, hypnotic virtue.
And that’s where I stand, naked before you now. Caught up in the debauchery of unconditional reverencery. Touched by the gentle hand of the Liverpool family.
I’m a part of something. Something so big that infinity itself cowers under its enourmousness. And so does infinity times two. A feeling so strong that diamonds themselves could not scratch the impecableness of the gleaming surface. A yearning to write plaudits in groups of three in one paragraph so demanding, that the only reason I came up with this last plaudit, was so I could write some plaudits in a group of three in this particular paragraph.
I stand before you now. Converted by the King and his subjects.
And that’s important.
Religious metaphors. They ooze out of every pore of us precious RAWKites like sweat from a spent rapist after getting legged in Texas. They wash over us like a refreshing tsunami of joy – caused by a thunderous earthquake of hope. Sent by the footballing gods.
And that’s important.
Allegories related to human catastrophe on a massive scale in conjunction with perceived footballing injustices. Comparing oneself to a young innocent who is one minute kicking a can in the street barefoot, before the next crushed by a collapsing building – safe in the knowledge that his knowledge is so vacuous, that he knows not that the acids released from his crushed muscles will kill him long before hunger, thirst or his heartbreak at the loss of his mother.
That’s what it takes to be a RAWKite and a fan of Liverpool Football Club.
And that’s important.
Liverpool Football Club. Liverpool Football Club is the only way you can describe Liverpool Football Club. Failing to say Liverpool Football Club when referring to Liverpool Football Club is either banned, illegal, impossible, or a path to such ridiculousnessary that to come back from such an inadvertence, would be an exercise in miraculousnessness.
And that’s important.
Using long words that may or may not exist that you have found in the first thesaurus you came across when doing a search on Google. Words so indubitable in their incorpulessnessary, that to question their very subversavariousness is a sure fire way to find yourself in a situation of obfuscatariousness.
And this is important.
Breaking up every paragraph with a short line that is designed to imbibe greater meaning and seriousness. A line perceived to be so full of knowing, that God Himself cannot begin to understand its completeness. A line of such damning wisdom, that the prophets of the scriptures would look at each other ashen faced with embarrassment – at their ignorance of the comprehension of its perspicacity.
As I lie in fevered half-sleep, the motives and emotion of RAWK creep into my consciousness. They fill me with a fervour powerful enough to alter the balance of chemicals in my brain. They change my perception of the world we live in.
They change me forever.
So I stand before you humbley and proclaim from the highest rooftop...
Dear RAWK
Thankyou for existing. Thankyou for gving my life meaning. Thankyou for helping me live and breathe again. Thankyou for providing me with the greatest mastubatory material it has ever been the pleasure of my donnay sock to mop up. I bless the very fibre optic wires you reach me from, I pray for the very etc. etc. etc.
When I saw RAWK for the first time, I mean, I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t believe the strength of emotion that I witnessed emanating from this beacon of the internet. It was a light that shone so brightly, that my disgust at the mawkishness of the content was blitzed by a tirade of righteousness – that was enough to power the sun.
And that’s important.
Because the power of the sun is a force so bewildering,
that metaphors about its power,
expressed by Liverpool fans about largely meaningless situations,
can be forged with an energy so encompassing,
that the meaningless event itself,
becomes so overbearingly meaningful,
that the people expressing the emotion,
can become so deluded,
that they keep a sentence going on way too long.
Because they’re whipped up into a frenzy of orgasmic, hypnotic virtue.
And that’s where I stand, naked before you now. Caught up in the debauchery of unconditional reverencery. Touched by the gentle hand of the Liverpool family.
I’m a part of something. Something so big that infinity itself cowers under its enourmousness. And so does infinity times two. A feeling so strong that diamonds themselves could not scratch the impecableness of the gleaming surface. A yearning to write plaudits in groups of three in one paragraph so demanding, that the only reason I came up with this last plaudit, was so I could write some plaudits in a group of three in this particular paragraph.
I stand before you now. Converted by the King and his subjects.
And that’s important.
Religious metaphors. They ooze out of every pore of us precious RAWKites like sweat from a spent rapist after getting legged in Texas. They wash over us like a refreshing tsunami of joy – caused by a thunderous earthquake of hope. Sent by the footballing gods.
And that’s important.
Allegories related to human catastrophe on a massive scale in conjunction with perceived footballing injustices. Comparing oneself to a young innocent who is one minute kicking a can in the street barefoot, before the next crushed by a collapsing building – safe in the knowledge that his knowledge is so vacuous, that he knows not that the acids released from his crushed muscles will kill him long before hunger, thirst or his heartbreak at the loss of his mother.
That’s what it takes to be a RAWKite and a fan of Liverpool Football Club.
And that’s important.
Liverpool Football Club. Liverpool Football Club is the only way you can describe Liverpool Football Club. Failing to say Liverpool Football Club when referring to Liverpool Football Club is either banned, illegal, impossible, or a path to such ridiculousnessary that to come back from such an inadvertence, would be an exercise in miraculousnessness.
And that’s important.
Using long words that may or may not exist that you have found in the first thesaurus you came across when doing a search on Google. Words so indubitable in their incorpulessnessary, that to question their very subversavariousness is a sure fire way to find yourself in a situation of obfuscatariousness.
And this is important.
Breaking up every paragraph with a short line that is designed to imbibe greater meaning and seriousness. A line perceived to be so full of knowing, that God Himself cannot begin to understand its completeness. A line of such damning wisdom, that the prophets of the scriptures would look at each other ashen faced with embarrassment – at their ignorance of the comprehension of its perspicacity.
As I lie in fevered half-sleep, the motives and emotion of RAWK creep into my consciousness. They fill me with a fervour powerful enough to alter the balance of chemicals in my brain. They change my perception of the world we live in.
They change me forever.
So I stand before you humbley and proclaim from the highest rooftop...
Dear RAWK
Thankyou for existing. Thankyou for gving my life meaning. Thankyou for helping me live and breathe again. Thankyou for providing me with the greatest mastubatory material it has ever been the pleasure of my donnay sock to mop up. I bless the very fibre optic wires you reach me from, I pray for the very etc. etc. etc.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Fernando
It’s a dark day in the life of all Liverpool fans today. Darker than night. Darker than the mind of a paedophile. Darker than carbon nanotube carpet. Darker, more painful and more distressing than the black hole of Calcutta. When those 123 prisoners of war suffocated in the blistering heat and cramped conditions, they could not have felt as persecuted as us great fans do now. The greatest fans to ever walk God’s green earth.
Persecuted by modern football.
I feel as if the rug has been pulled from under me today. A rug that was once fixed firmly to the ground supporting my hopes and dreams - and allowing me to wipe my feet clean of all the hate and bias thrown at our great club by the media and fraudulent officials. Keeping my feet on the ground - keeping all of our feet on the ground because we are the most realistic, self-effacing, down to earth fans in the history of world football.
As the realisation hits that Nando may sign for Chelsea. I’m sat with LFCtv on, constantly refreshing the page on the official site. I have Sky Sports news on in the kitchen and I’ve set up the laptop so I can keep an eye on the BBC transfer ticker. On my iphone I’ve got the Echo website and on my desktop I’ve got RAWK (of course). I’ve borrowed my brother’s Nokia N900 and I’m eagerly checking Goal.com for news and I’m following twitter on my sister’s notebook. I’m getting any Facebook updates on me mam’s Nokia N97.
Waiting........ Desperate for news. Desperate for closure. Desperate to move on from the torture of this desolate limbo.
I can’t do anything else but wait. My 3 year old son is lying on the settee choking. He’s got cystic fibrosis and urgently needs a lung massage to remove the mucus caused by his decreased mucociliary clearance. But I myself am choking. Choking on the idea that our hero, our talisman, the one we thought was one of us, will leave us and take the 30 pieces of silver offered by a smaller club.
So my son will have to struggle to breathe a little longer - until the answers come.
Can you hear my son Fernando?
I remember long ago another painful night like this
When Rafa left Fernando
He was choking and confused as I was glued to Sky Sports news
I can hear him struggle for air
As sounds of your departure are echoing all around
And now you’re going Fernando
Every hour every minute seems to last eternally
I am so afraid Fernando
My son is young and full of life and I’m prepared to let him die
And I'm not ashamed to say
The news that you might leave has almost made me cry
He’ll be struggling for air all night
Till we know your plight, Fernando
But there’s still a chance for you and me
Ignore Chelsea, Fernando
Though my son has now turned blue
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando
Now he’s still and grey Fernando
And all day now I haven't seen a biro in your hand
Put us out of our pain Fernando?
Release us from this misery and let him live again?
I can see it in your eyes
You want to change your mind and stay close to the King.
He’ll be struggling for air all night
Till we know your plight, Fernando
But there’s still a chance for you and me
Ignore Chelsea, Fernando
Though my son has now turned blue
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando
He’ll be struggling for air all night
Till we know your plight, Fernando
But there’s still a chance for you and me
Ignore Chelsea, Fernando
Though my son has now turned blue
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando
Persecuted by modern football.
I feel as if the rug has been pulled from under me today. A rug that was once fixed firmly to the ground supporting my hopes and dreams - and allowing me to wipe my feet clean of all the hate and bias thrown at our great club by the media and fraudulent officials. Keeping my feet on the ground - keeping all of our feet on the ground because we are the most realistic, self-effacing, down to earth fans in the history of world football.
As the realisation hits that Nando may sign for Chelsea. I’m sat with LFCtv on, constantly refreshing the page on the official site. I have Sky Sports news on in the kitchen and I’ve set up the laptop so I can keep an eye on the BBC transfer ticker. On my iphone I’ve got the Echo website and on my desktop I’ve got RAWK (of course). I’ve borrowed my brother’s Nokia N900 and I’m eagerly checking Goal.com for news and I’m following twitter on my sister’s notebook. I’m getting any Facebook updates on me mam’s Nokia N97.
Waiting........ Desperate for news. Desperate for closure. Desperate to move on from the torture of this desolate limbo.
I can’t do anything else but wait. My 3 year old son is lying on the settee choking. He’s got cystic fibrosis and urgently needs a lung massage to remove the mucus caused by his decreased mucociliary clearance. But I myself am choking. Choking on the idea that our hero, our talisman, the one we thought was one of us, will leave us and take the 30 pieces of silver offered by a smaller club.
So my son will have to struggle to breathe a little longer - until the answers come.
Can you hear my son Fernando?
I remember long ago another painful night like this
When Rafa left Fernando
He was choking and confused as I was glued to Sky Sports news
I can hear him struggle for air
As sounds of your departure are echoing all around
And now you’re going Fernando
Every hour every minute seems to last eternally
I am so afraid Fernando
My son is young and full of life and I’m prepared to let him die
And I'm not ashamed to say
The news that you might leave has almost made me cry
He’ll be struggling for air all night
Till we know your plight, Fernando
But there’s still a chance for you and me
Ignore Chelsea, Fernando
Though my son has now turned blue
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando
Now he’s still and grey Fernando
And all day now I haven't seen a biro in your hand
Put us out of our pain Fernando?
Release us from this misery and let him live again?
I can see it in your eyes
You want to change your mind and stay close to the King.
He’ll be struggling for air all night
Till we know your plight, Fernando
But there’s still a chance for you and me
Ignore Chelsea, Fernando
Though my son has now turned blue
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando
He’ll be struggling for air all night
Till we know your plight, Fernando
But there’s still a chance for you and me
Ignore Chelsea, Fernando
Though my son has now turned blue
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend, Fernando
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