Love for City holds no bounds

[manchester blue]

The season is upon us and we’re finally allowed back to cheer on our club’s representatives as best we can. I can’t wait!
I’m on holiday at the moment and have just had the misfortune to encounter two Liverpool supporters. The one who was from Liverpool said we’re a good team albeit through gritted teeth whereas the plastic one from Congleton said I must be from Stockport. Zzzzzzzzz Just then another plastic Scouser pops up - he was Portuguese ffs!!! I’m in Portugal so I guess it’s almost acceptable. Anyway this fella spouts off that City have no history and Liverpool obviously do! Zzzzzzzzz where do they get these fuckwits from? Im a bit pissed but just wanted to say all this has just reinforced my love for our club, the greatest love of my life. See you at Wembley! Fuck you Scouse shite!

I always all them 'followers' rather than supporters. Seems to wind them up a bit.

 

[Bobbyespania]

Where I live is very Spanish and most I speak to( in Spanglish) are for the most part Real Madrid fans on holiday from Madrid and other parts of the country. My local Spanish mate supports Real socidad and Real Madrid which always puzzled me. Anyway from time to time out here I’ve come across Spanish lads wearing our strip so it can’t be all bad.

 

[A57 the snake]

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!
I’ll reply to most of all the threads on bluemoon with this ... simpleh city.