United Thread - 2023/24

[bluetonium]

You have to say, 8th is actually pretty admirable for a team that has purchased some utterly dire players and had constant discipline commitment issues on and off the pitch. I remember the days we'd have killed for 8th, and their self entitled muppet supporters think they're the most unjustly treated people in world history.

It's possible the board will realize this in the summer and keep good old Ten Haag. He just needs more money to work with, a dry stadium so the fans can concentrate on turning up the volume rather than drowning, and the continuation of several questionable but favourable decisions per season.

I even think the stadium was probably flooded on purpose, to get rid of the rat problem. High time that lot realized how lucky they are to have these owners, players and manager. Just as Rome wasn't built in a day, neither can such a giant pile of turd be sufficiently polished in a single season.

 

[Gray]

View attachment 119254

Endorsed by the Glasgow Pisscan, who went apoplectic when we finally retaliated.

 

[KentBlue]

And all this is happening while that malodorous, belligerent, hate-filled octogenarian watches on. Words and phrases like "Small club mentality,"Not in my lifetime" and "Noisy neighbours" swirling through the remains of his drink-ravaged brain. Unable to comprehend the fact that the club that he and his colleagues routinely sneered at, made derogatory comments about and openly dismissed as 'small time,' are now amongst the elite: the cream of the cream, a side playing an attractive, attacking style of football unprecedented in British sport.

The dethroned despot now sits in the semi-abandoned, derelict ground that was once his kingdom. His purple-veined face and bloodshot eyes, visual evidence of decades-long chronic alcohol abuse. Like the ghost of Saddam Hussein returning to the war-torn streets of an Iraq destroyed beyond all recognition by the bombs and the bullets of its many enemies.

The fallen dictator of the swamp now has nowhere to turn, no old friends to reminisce with, no 'jolly old pals' to embrace and laugh with about old times. They are all gone, either dead or infirm. He has nothing left to live for so he now spends his last lonely hours on earth, feebly watching from afar as that very same club that he once so vigorously mocked has now turned the throttle up and roared off into the distance, leaving a frail and bewildered old man in its dust.


Meanwhile, in the rest of country, thousands upon thousands of decent, respectable folk will be stocking up on supplies of jelly and ice-cream in order to feast with much merriment the final days of one of the most disliked football managers who ever blighted the English league.

 

[Asa's left peg]

And all this is happening while that malodorous, belligerent, hate-filled octogenarian watches on. Words and phrases like "Small club mentality,"Not in my lifetime" and "Noisy neighbours" swirling through the remains of his drink-ravaged brain. Unable to comprehend the fact that the club that he and his colleagues routinely sneered at, made derogatory comments about and openly dismissed as 'small time,' are now amongst the elite: the cream of the cream, a side playing an attractive, attacking style of football unprecedented in British sport.

The dethroned despot now sits in the semi-abandoned, derelict ground that was once his kingdom. His purple-veined face and bloodshot eyes, visual evidence of decades-long chronic alcohol abuse. Like the ghost of Saddam Hussein returning to the war-torn streets of an Iraq destroyed beyond all recognition by the bombs and the bullets of its many enemies.

The fallen dictator of the swamp now has nowhere to turn, no old friends to reminisce with, no 'jolly old pals' to embrace and laugh with about old times. They are all gone, either dead or infirm. He has nothing left to live for so he now spends his last lonely hours on earth, feebly watching from afar as that very same club that he once so vigorously mocked has now turned the throttle up and roared off into the distance, leaving a frail and bewildered old man in its dust.


Meanwhile, in the rest of country, thousands upon thousands of decent, respectable folk will be stocking up on supplies of jelly and ice-cream in order to feast with much merriment the final days of one of the most disliked football managers who ever blighted the English league.

Errrrr ..... but errr, do you like him or not?

(Asking the question in the style of Simon Stone. Hope you liked it)

 

[Mid Wales blue]

“This means thirty four” could be used too.

It’s the perfect gap.

Nice little banner,

Come to Manchester witness a wonder of the world
“The Manchester Gap”

 

[blue b4 the moon]

And all this is happening while that malodorous, belligerent, hate-filled octogenarian watches on. Words and phrases like "Small club mentality,"Not in my lifetime" and "Noisy neighbours" swirling through the remains of his drink-ravaged brain. Unable to comprehend the fact that the club that he and his colleagues routinely sneered at, made derogatory comments about and openly dismissed as 'small time,' are now amongst the elite: the cream of the cream, a side playing an attractive, attacking style of football unprecedented in British sport.

The dethroned despot now sits in the semi-abandoned, derelict ground that was once his kingdom. His purple-veined face and bloodshot eyes, visual evidence of decades-long chronic alcohol abuse. Like the ghost of Saddam Hussein returning to the war-torn streets of an Iraq destroyed beyond all recognition by the bombs and the bullets of its many enemies.

The fallen dictator of the swamp now has nowhere to turn, no old friends to reminisce with, no 'jolly old pals' to embrace and laugh with about old times. They are all gone, either dead or infirm. He has nothing left to live for so he now spends his last lonely hours on earth, feebly watching from afar as that very same club that he once so vigorously mocked has now turned the throttle up and roared off into the distance, leaving a frail and bewildered old man in its dust.


Meanwhile, in the rest of country, thousands upon thousands of decent, respectable folk will be stocking up on supplies of jelly and ice-cream in order to feast with much merriment the final days of one of the most disliked football managers who ever blighted the English league.

Tell you what I really hope I've just started 2 weeks holiday abroad when the day comes, the media here will be horrendous.

 

[i went to rotherham]

Some players have got 'water on the knee'.

Easily treated with a tap on the head.

 

[johnevans]

And all this is happening while that malodorous, belligerent, hate-filled octogenarian watches on. Words and phrases like "Small club mentality,"Not in my lifetime" and "Noisy neighbours" swirling through the remains of his drink-ravaged brain. Unable to comprehend the fact that the club that he and his colleagues routinely sneered at, made derogatory comments about and openly dismissed as 'small time,' are now amongst the elite: the cream of the cream, a side playing an attractive, attacking style of football unprecedented in British sport.

The dethroned despot now sits in the semi-abandoned, derelict ground that was once his kingdom. His purple-veined face and bloodshot eyes, visual evidence of decades-long chronic alcohol abuse. Like the ghost of Saddam Hussein returning to the war-torn streets of an Iraq destroyed beyond all recognition by the bombs and the bullets of its many enemies.

The fallen dictator of the swamp now has nowhere to turn, no old friends to reminisce with, no 'jolly old pals' to embrace and laugh with about old times. They are all gone, either dead or infirm. He has nothing left to live for so he now spends his last lonely hours on earth, feebly watching from afar as that very same club that he once so vigorously mocked has now turned the throttle up and roared off into the distance, leaving a frail and bewildered old man in its dust.


Meanwhile, in the rest of country, thousands upon thousands of decent, respectable folk will be stocking up on supplies of jelly and ice-cream in order to feast with much merriment the final days of one of the most disliked football managers who ever blighted the English league.

So, for our survey, I should put you down in the 'Not a Fan' category, then..?!

(One day, I'll set down here the story of that dreadful egotist's behaviour when he visited my sister's school in Salford some 20 years ago.. selfish and self-entitled doesn't even begin to describe it..)

 

[heslops barnet]

And all this is happening while that malodorous, belligerent, hate-filled octogenarian watches on. Words and phrases like "Small club mentality,"Not in my lifetime" and "Noisy neighbours" swirling through the remains of his drink-ravaged brain. Unable to comprehend the fact that the club that he and his colleagues routinely sneered at, made derogatory comments about and openly dismissed as 'small time,' are now amongst the elite: the cream of the cream, a side playing an attractive, attacking style of football unprecedented in British sport.

The dethroned despot now sits in the semi-abandoned, derelict ground that was once his kingdom. His purple-veined face and bloodshot eyes, visual evidence of decades-long chronic alcohol abuse. Like the ghost of Saddam Hussein returning to the war-torn streets of an Iraq destroyed beyond all recognition by the bombs and the bullets of its many enemies.

The fallen dictator of the swamp now has nowhere to turn, no old friends to reminisce with, no 'jolly old pals' to embrace and laugh with about old times. They are all gone, either dead or infirm. He has nothing left to live for so he now spends his last lonely hours on earth, feebly watching from afar as that very same club that he once so vigorously mocked has now turned the throttle up and roared off into the distance, leaving a frail and bewildered old man in its dust.


Meanwhile, in the rest of country, thousands upon thousands of decent, respectable folk will be stocking up on supplies of jelly and ice-cream in order to feast with much merriment the final days of one of the most disliked football managers who ever blighted the English league.

Made me almost feel sorry for the red nosed ****……..but then thought fuck him

 

[Andy TheCatalyst Morrison]

So, for our survey, I should put you down in the 'Not a Fan' category, then..?!

(One day, I'll set down here the story of that dreadful egoist's behaviour when he visited my sister's school in Salford some 20 years ago.. selfish and self-entitled doesn't even begin to describe it..)

No time like the present …