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Homepage Article chicoazul's West Brom Preview

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GrandOldTeam

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West Brom v Everton Preview - Grand Old Team

Welcome to the final third of the season. Usually by this point Everton, and their zany audience, are in various stages of maligned ambition, despondency, burning rage, resignation and distraction. Though this year’s plot has steered form the usual Greek Tragedy and innovated a peculiar and...
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Really though it’s too easy to sneer at the Count of Monte Bisto when his record with multiple clubs is superior to many with funkier reputations that have failed dismally in the Premier League. Sure his football might not be to taste but if it is so basic then why have so many had trouble overcoming it? Clubs know exactly what they’re getting and are quite happy to trade their XG and training ground plumbing in return for it, placing the obnoxious tactical toad in the hot seat chest pumping and promising you salvation, while lashing out a vile tongue to lick his own eyeball. A man whose most sordid fantasy is a deflected header. A man who thinks horses for courses is a credible gourmet option. A man who chews his own farts. A man who exhales CFCs. A man whose shadow alone can kill a season’s crops. A man who’s served toast by the lorry. A man who grazes on desperation. A man who wears a hammock as a mask. Where number tens go to die. NASA couldn’t land a rover on his back. The TK Maxx oops rail suit wearing slug. If you throw a coin down his belly button your team concede a corner. Stencil that jaw with KIRKBY SKIPS as he chomps hard and true on eternal dumpling. I bet his armpits break Geigers. The foul touchline manatee. I miss him and his post match quotes so so much.


Absolutes tears reading that lollollollollollollollollollollollollollollollollol
 
JLW said:
Really though it’s too easy to sneer at the Count of Monte Bisto when his record with multiple clubs is superior to many with funkier reputations that have failed dismally in the Premier League. Sure his football might not be to taste but if it is so basic then why have so many had trouble overcoming it? Clubs know exactly what they’re getting and are quite happy to trade their XG and training ground plumbing in return for it, placing the obnoxious tactical toad in the hot seat chest pumping and promising you salvation, while lashing out a vile tongue to lick his own eyeball. A man whose most sordid fantasy is a deflected header. A man who thinks horses for courses is a credible gourmet option. A man who chews his own farts. A man who exhales CFCs. A man whose shadow alone can kill a season’s crops. A man who’s served toast by the lorry. A man who grazes on desperation. A man who wears a hammock as a mask. Where number tens go to die. NASA couldn’t land a rover on his back. The TK Maxx oops rail suit wearing slug. If you throw a coin down his belly button your team concede a corner. Stencil that jaw with KIRKBY SKIPS as he chomps hard and true on eternal dumpling. I bet his armpits break Geigers. The foul touchline manatee. I miss him and his post match quotes so so much.


Absolutes tears reading that lollollollollollollollollollollollollollollollollol
Click to expand...


Hahahaha. In tears here too
 



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