This has to be the funniest footy related e-mail I've had in my life, I love

it...

 

> > This was actually posted on the Sheffield Wednesday Website.

> >

> >

> > "I'm feeling all angry about these modern day footballers, I know why

> > they have gone all soft - it's because of poncy names. That's what it

> is.

> > Remember in the old days, when football players kicked a f**king ball

> made

> > out of ten pound of clay stitched inside a steel-reinforced leather

> shell

> > with laces made out of piano wire?

> >

> > Well, in them days players could only survive the rigours of the game

> > because they were called things like Albert, Arthur, Bert, Harry, Bill,

> > Eddie, Bob, Jack and Tommy. F**king tough names for tough men, them was.

> > And what do we have now? Jason, Wayne, Dean, Ryan, Jamie, Robbie.

> F**king

> > tarts' names, they are. Great big f**king puffs. No wonder the ball's

> like

> > a f**king balloon and shin pads is like slices of bread. In the old days

> > you never saw a Len Shackleton or a Billy Wright with a puffy little

> > Sondico piece of paper down his little thin socks. F**king shinpads in

> > them days was made out of library books, and socks was like sackcloth.

> >

> > Same with the jerseys. F**king shirts with holes in now so they can

> > breathe. Yes, so that little Jody's hairless chest can breathe and he

> > doesn't get a chill. F**k off. Stanley Matthews used to dribble round

> > Europe's finest wearing a f**king tent and shorts cobbled together from

> > the jacket of his de-mob suit. Aye, he f**king did. No wonder players

> fall

> > over all the time whenever an opponent comes anywhere near them. And

> they

> > never used to show their arses at one another either. Can you imagine

> what

> > might have happened if Don Revie had flashed his ring at Nat Lofthouse

> > during a City-Bolton Wanderers game? He'd have got one of them size 10

> > hobnail f**kers up his bastard chuff.

> >

> > F**king therapy for stress my arse! Stan Collymore slaps his missus

> about

> > and he takes three seasons off with stress counselling. What the f**k is

> > that all about? In the old days it was expected for footballers to belt

> > the old sow about a bit, specially after a bad defeat. And the women

> used

> > to expect it, and so they should have. They was lucky to be married to

> > footballers.

> >

> > Ha! Trevor Morley got a kitchen knife in his back off his wife and was

> out

> > of action for three month. Soft twat. Archie McShitt of Port Vale got

> run

> > over with horse and cart one Friday night and he still turned out

> against

> > Bradford the following day. And he scored two goals. That's cos his name

> > wasn't "Trevor". Good old Archie. Broke his hip, both his legs, murdered

> > his wife and buried her under the patio and still made the England team

> > for the Home Internationals. Did he have any "stress counselling"? Did

> he

> > bollocks!

> >

> > And drugs? There was none of that in the old days. Oh, no. In them days

> it

> > was a quick shot of morphine before kick-off and you was lucky if you

> got

> > that. By half-time it had all but wore off so they pumped you full of

> > laudanum. None of this cocaine sniffing and shooting up class A

> narcotics.

> >

> > Goal celebrations? Don't talk to me about goal celebrations. Crawling on

> > the floor and thrusting their hips at the crowd. Huh! I'd like to have

> > seen Cliff Bastin do that after a run down the left flank and crossing

> for

> > Alex James to fire home a winner. Handshakes...and that was all you got.

> > That and a wank in the showers afterwards. But it was a proper wank...

> all

> > man stuff. None of these puffy wanks between blokes that you get

> nowadays

> > with players like Thierry Henry and Stephen Gerrard. Allegedly. In them

> > days, there was nowt wrong with it cos it didn't mean nowt. They used to

> > say there was a "gay atmosphere" in the dressing room after the match.

> But

> > it didn't mean owt mucky. Just a bit of harmless spanking the plank

> among

> > healthy young sportsmen. Aye. I know. Me dad told me.

> >

> > Sixty grand a f**king week! Ha! I wouldn't pay 'em tuppence. Two bob

> Tommy

> > Lawton used to get... a month! And Tom Finney still worked as a plumber

> > four days a week when he was playing for England. It's true, you know.

> > F**king is. Players had to [censored] them days just to make up their money.

> Not

> > like today. Stan Pearson had to clean sewers and doubled up as Old

> > Trafford shithouse cleaner. He had to go off during one game because

> some

> > c**t had built a log cabin and blocked the U-bend. And that Eddie

> Hapgood

> > was a male model... though he never liked to talk about it.

> >

> > So I say we start calling kids real male names again. If you're having a

> > kid, don't even consider puffy names and shite names like what people

> > call their kids these days. Otherwise what we gonna get in twenty years'

> > time?

> > The England team full of players called Keanu, Ronan, Ashley and f**king

> > Chesney. F**k that! Call your kids Alf, Herbert, Len, Frank, Fred and

> > Wilf. And let's get the puffs out of the game once and for all.

Quality.

WHAT THE F*&K !!!

 

 

clubbing on a saturday night -------->

Is that you on a rant tony, or is that really from the sheff wed site?

[censored] me if that is a rant fair play cos its quality, if not then the bloke who wrote it is quality! ROFLMAO

Stan Pearson had to clean sewers and doubled up as Old Trafford shithouse cleaner. He had to go off during one game because some c**t had built a log cabin and blocked the U-bend.

 

 

pmsl @ log cabin

lmao - nice 1 Tony!!

Bushy: can't take any credit for that mate, it was from the shef site. Funny as [censored] thou