Enjoy the apocalypse, mate!FFS there's almost a quarter of the season left and it's all to play for.
I've heard criticism of the match day threads and the insane flapping that goes on there but the first 20 pages of the Arsenal post match thread was so negative I had to give up on it.
I can't be doing with all this reminiscing either. Villa on Wednesday is all that matters now.
I've never watched the whole QPR game back, only Zabaleta's goal and the last five minutes, so I could have done without reading that excruciating third paragraph of woe. Otherwise, bloody good post. There's a video somewhere of a woman reporter way outside the stadium on live TV and as the roar, THAT roar, goes up she says "that noise can only mean one thing ..."For me nothing topped the Aguero moment and I'd say that goes for almost all long suffering Blues. Those were the days before ffp 115 charges and I'd say tourists. Every clubs fans worldwide except the rags celebrated that one with us. We were still little old City back then fighting against Ferguson and his evil red army empire.
If one game encapsulated what it meant to be a City fan it was this one. Second best to the rags for decades and now finally able to compete financially and on the field. After murdering them at Old Trafford, leading the table for months, then looking like we had blown it, we had miraculously clawed our way back. Now just one game stood between us and our first title for 44 years. The hard work had been done. The club with the best home record in the league against the club with the worst away record. What could possibly go wrong? As we now know plenty.
A horrible stuttering painful ninety minutes followed. World class players like Aguero, Tevez and Silva played like they had lead in their boots. Our often saviour Toure had departed injured. Leading 1-0 our normally rock solid defender Lescott haplessly miscued a simple header, a mistake on a par with classic cock ups from a painful past littered with such cock ups and it was 1-1. Then our ex thug Joey Barton was sent off. Q.P.R down to ten men. This was it, now we could finally put them to the sword. Then disaster struck. Our captain, our reliable leader Vincent Kompany, got rinsed in a rare QPR breakaway. The cross came in and a bizarre header bounced high off the floor and almost comically ended up in our net. 1-2. The pain was too much to bear. It was too cruel. Hadn't we suffered enough? The old ghosts of Maine Road swirled in the air mocking us. The gypsy curse, Jamie Pollock's own goal, keeping the ball in the corner thinking we needed a draw, when only a win would do to avoid relegation, David Pleat dancing across our hollowed turf in his white shoes. Just when we thoughts we'd exorcised them all they had returned.
As we sat slumped in our seats, the pain too much to bear, a higher power took pity on us. Dzeko, then Aguero scored and the gutteral primaeval roar that followed blew the ghosts away. It was a noise so loud, such a release of pain and misery, that shocked shoppers in Asda stood open mouthed and wondered what the hell had happened. The ending of our years of pain is what. A moment never to be forgotten or repeated. To quote Peter Drury, "From the depths of despair to cacophonic joy!" It sure was.
So we know there are at least 15 other negative sentimental old gits who liked this post as well as the OP. Grow a set and start looking forward not backwards, leave that to the red topsAnd I feel fine…
Having experienced a level of football year after year (including this season) that I never even dreamed of when I was a young lad pining for 40 points and the odd derby win, trying to avoid having the piss (or worse) taken out of me by the gloryhunting rag cunts at school.
We’re currently 3 points off the top of the league with 9 games to try to win our fourth consecutive league title (and 6 out of the last seven), playing Real Madrid in the CL quarterfinals to possibly when two straight CLs, and Chelsea in the FA Cup semifinals to perhaps win the cup in back-to-back years.
If this season is the beginning of the end of our club as force, I’ll happily enjoy the ride back down to mediocrity, knowing I have experienced something exceedingly special. Something most other fans would give their left arm (and first born) to have enjoyed.
Though, I personally don’t think it is the start of our slide in to oblivion. I think we’re just seeing the natural consequences of the unprecedented achievement of last year, and the clubs efforts to build for the future. Which, is to say, competing for another treble.
Enjoy armageddon, blues.
Boo....fucking boo. Make that 16 othersSo we know there are at least 15 other negative sentimental old gits who liked this post as well as the OP. Grow a set and start looking forward not backwards, leave that to the red tops
I've never watched the whole QPR game back, only Zabaleta's goal and the last five minutes, so I could have done without reading that excruciating third paragraph of woe. Otherwise, bloody good post. There's a video somewhere of a woman reporter way outside the stadium on live TV and as the roar, THAT roar, goes up she says "that noise can only mean one thing ..."
And look what it's done to me (to all of us) as that grand old fella said in 2012.
This was the day "Typical City" died, obviously in the spirit of the current holiday, it has tried to resurrect itself a number of times, and its dark dark shadow hovers ominously behind each and every opposition one shot one goal situation but I'd like to believe it will never darken our door againFor me nothing topped the Aguero moment and I'd say that goes for almost all long suffering Blues. Those were the days before ffp 115 charges and I'd say tourists. Every clubs fans worldwide except the rags celebrated that one with us. We were still little old City back then fighting against Ferguson and his evil red army empire.
If one game encapsulated what it meant to be a City fan it was this one. Second best to the rags for decades and now finally able to compete financially and on the field. After murdering them at Old Trafford, leading the table for months, then looking like we had blown it, we had miraculously clawed our way back. Now just one game stood between us and our first title for 44 years. The hard work had been done. The club with the best home record in the league against the club with the worst away record. What could possibly go wrong? As we now know plenty.
A horrible stuttering painful ninety minutes followed. World class players like Aguero, Tevez and Silva played like they had lead in their boots. Our often saviour Toure had departed injured. Leading 1-0 our normally rock solid defender Lescott haplessly miscued a simple header, a mistake on a par with classic cock ups from a painful past littered with such cock ups and it was 1-1. Then our ex thug Joey Barton was sent off. Q.P.R down to ten men. This was it, now we could finally put them to the sword. Then disaster struck. Our captain, our reliable leader Vincent Kompany, got rinsed in a rare QPR breakaway. The cross came in and a bizarre header bounced high off the floor and almost comically ended up in our net. 1-2. The pain was too much to bear. It was too cruel. Hadn't we suffered enough? The old ghosts of Maine Road swirled in the air mocking us. The gypsy curse, Jamie Pollock's own goal, keeping the ball in the corner thinking we needed a draw, when only a win would do to avoid relegation, David Pleat dancing across our hollowed turf in his white shoes. Just when we thoughts we'd exorcised them all they had returned.
As we sat slumped in our seats, the pain too much to bear, a higher power took pity on us. Dzeko, then Aguero scored and the gutteral primaeval roar that followed blew the ghosts away. It was a noise so loud, such a release of pain and misery, that shocked shoppers in Asda stood open mouthed and wondered what the hell had happened. The ending of our years of pain is what. A moment never to be forgotten or repeated. To quote Peter Drury, "From the depths of despair to cacophonic joy!" It sure was.