Leicester City v City post match.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
(Copyright: that guy that makes cakes)



Or in other words. Stop being winging fucking fannys
 
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
(Copyright: that guy that makes cakes)



Or in other words. Stop being winging fucking fannys

That's all about faith, not blind faith.
 
When Kolorov , Fernando and Navas start a game together, we very rarely win. I'm not saying these 3 are the problem because the problem is Peps insistance to play out from the back, even though teams have cottoned on how to expose it. I don't know if it's going to work in premier league or not, but we've got to trust in him.. WHY?fuck knows!! Hes our manager now and we need to get behind him, even though hes not the messiah we all thought he was ( yet anyway) Going back to the 3 stooges, Why are these 3 still at the club? All 3 are contstant under performers..even though Navas has shown good defensive duties over his City career, but unfortunately he is a winger not a fucking defender !! The other two just fill me with dread every time I see em on team sheet. CTIFD
 
Well, I've calmed down a bit now.

In TYPICAL City fashion, we gifted Pikey Vardy an early Christmas present. I knew we would. He's been dreadful for most of this season, but we allowed Leicester to play to his strengths.

I think Pep will turn it round. We obviously all expected miracles after the first few games, but this was a false dawn. The rot from Pelagrini's team goes deep, and it will take time to get sorted. If we win anything this season, we'll have been lucky. Unfortunately, luck hasn't been on our side for a while now (that and some truly shocking refereeing performances).
 
Softarse.

There's no guarantee of success at any time in the Premier League.

How on earth did you survive the 90's? I guess you didn't go a lot then, as we weren't good enough for you.

I was absolutely fuming yesterday, said after the first two went in we'd let at least 4 in, sad to say I was proven right. How on earth Kolarov still gets a game for us is a mystery!

Only ever left about three games early, yesterday was one of them.

Still had a good day out with friends though, few beers, lad I know that doesn't get to go too often was happy to grab a late spare ticket too

Nothing to do with being a softarse ya prick. Surviving the 90s was easy as none of us expected anything but even then we would put in a tackle or at least show some effort in defence. This bunch of overpaid pampered footballers cant do even the basics right and the least I expect for my effort and my hard earned cash is to see some effort on their part. Not a lot to ask.

Sorry mate but you'd better stay away & save your hard earned cash cos this is City...always has been....always will be.

BTW canI buy your season ticket pro rata ?
 
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
(Copyright: that guy that makes cakes)



Or in other words. Stop being winging fucking fannys
I'm with you!
 

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