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Sunday 5 January 2014

Football, isn't it. (1997)

Barry Town 3, Bangor City 0: FAW/BBC Invitation No-Chance-Of-Euro-Places-Alright-Arthur?-Stick-To-Rugby-Mate Cup, September 1997.

"That's It" slurred The King, as their 3rd goal squirted past Dave Williams in the City goal, "I'm taking my pants off, and going on the pitch.". At this Andy woke up from his stupor and swung possibly the slowest haymaker ever in the history of the world at Pruney, which missed, before he resumed his muttering all curled up at the back of the stand. It was an improvement in sleeping conditions for him because at the half-time interval he had had to be rescued from his slumber in the dirtyass toilets by one of the boys climbing over the cubicle door and releasing the lock which Andy had thoughtfully engaged prior to resting his eyes.
As far as I was concerned, ever since Diving Darren Ryan had curled them rich fuckers' second goal around our truckdriver keeper, I had decided that the best plan was to get my top off and reveal my new nipple ring. It was then, I felt, pertinent to invite the Barry Family Stand to enlighten me as to exactly which league position would they enjoy without the Chairwoman's millions, and furthermore where the fuck were you lot when you were skint anyway?
I recall a philosophical discussion was entered into as to exactly which orifice those cunting bongos that they insisted on playing wildly out of time would fit the best, and I believe I had some fairly strong opinions on the matter, which were no doubt shared by the silent majority. <Although the silent majority, by their very nature, and as their moniker would surely indicate, are a fairly timid lot>.

So I told Sharpy that these Invitation Cup games were bollocks, and we'd have the yellow bastards in the league anyway. I like to think that he was impressed by both my candour and my agility in a five-minute tumble over the advertising hoardings behind his dugout. You don't get that at Everton! No siree Bob.

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