Peter Drury replaces Martin Tyler on Sky Sports

After his quote " that would have been one of the premier league greatest goals" after utd strung 10 passes together and didbt even get a shot on target.

He should be made by Sky to look at the 100 best premier league goals and be made to explain how that would have made to top 100. Than sack the bastard ! His monotone voice when City got a shot away ( Jesus shot ) compared to almost wetting himself when ever utd got near our box was fucking embarrassing, the worse I have ever heard him ?
So anti City he's a joke such a shame that my text tone is his " Manchester City are still alive here, Balotelli, Aguerooooooooo "
actually thought that myself,one of the best premier league goals, unbelievable
 
He should be made by Sky to look at the 100 best premier league goals and be made to explain how that would have made to top 100.
Seriously? The guy is doing the job he is employed to do which is to show clear, strong, positive and favourable bias towards the primary subscriber base - ie rags and Livarpool followers - so that said subscribers continue to keep Sky viable. If he didn't, he would be replaced by someone who did. Upsetting Mick from Moston or Dave from Didsbury is of no consequence whatsoever for Sky compared to keeping followers of the 2 cash cow clubs comfortable in their bubble of delusion. Tyler is not employed to make sense - he's employed to make Sky money.
 
We used to have people like Barry Davies, John Motson (before his senility), even Brian Moore, but now we have that bloody awful Jonathan Pearce with his screaming, adrenaline-laden, soprano voice because some team has made a substitution (“Oh my god! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life...a substitute is coming on the pitch...absolutely extraordinary!).

And then there is Tyler. A man who wouldn’t know the meaning of impartiality if it burrowed its way into what’s left of his brain, set up home there, and invited all its friends and family around for a barbecue. His obsequious grovelling to all things rag is truly nauseating: has been for the best part of thirty years, too. He makes no attempt to hide his fawning sycophancy when commentating on them, and even when he’s watching a game that doesn’t involve the rags he shoehorns them in somehow or other. I’ll bet at dinner parties the other guests get sick and tired of him going on about them (“Tyler, you biased fucker! Mention them once more and I will set light to that mess you call a face.”) The prick is going to end his days in a straight jacket, in a padded cell, dribbling, and muttering under his rancid breath the names of every ex-rag who has played a prominent role in his bukkake fantasies.
 
The sound of his voice and that ugly mush are two reasons to reach for the remote. If I were beginning again with footy and heard Tyler or saw him I would go and find a skipping rope, or a bow and arrow, or an interesting book. One of the biggest turn offs in the game!
 
His time must be up now, he’s 75 year old and turning into a mumbling mess, he’s going the same way motson did. There was 5 mins yesterday when it sounded like I was listening to someone visisting their dad in a nursing home. As he’s got older he obviously doesn’t give a fuck about being impartial either especially all things related to the Rags. Can’t believe he provided the soundtrack to our greatest moment. I’m now convinced he actually said “Balotelli....agerrrr NOOOOOOOOOO”
 
I was told today when Kev was waiting to take a free kick he said De Gea, De Brune, De rby...if that's true he's not even a shit Partridge anymore.
 
We used to have people like Barry Davies, John Motson (before his senility), even Brian Moore, but now we have that bloody awful Jonathan Pearce with his screaming, adrenaline-laden, soprano voice because some team has made a substitution (“Oh my god! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life...a substitute is coming on the pitch...absolutely extraordinary!).

And then there is Tyler. A man who wouldn’t know the meaning of impartiality if it burrowed its way into what’s left of his brain, set up home there, and invited all its friends and family around for a barbecue. His obsequious grovelling to all things rag is truly nauseating: has been for the best part of thirty years, too. He makes no attempt to hide his fawning sycophancy when commentating on them, and even when he’s watching a game that doesn’t involve the rags he shoehorns them in somehow or other. I’ll bet at dinner parties the other guests get sick and tired of him going on about them (“Tyler, you biased fucker! Mention them once more and I will set light to that mess you call a face.”) The prick is going to end his days in a straight jacket, in a padded cell, dribbling, and muttering under his rancid breath the names of every ex-rag who has played a prominent role in his bukkake fantasies.
He already looks like a waxwork that got salvaged from a arson attack
 

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