Jags..class
Player Valuation: £70m
Its seems that Brenda is now in the same adoration league as Rafael now, a rs was telling me how Benda is the one who turned Suarez unto World Class and will do the same with the other players.
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Its seems that Brenda is now in the same adoration league as Rafael now, a rs was telling me how Benda is the one who turned Suarez unto World Class and will do the same with the other players.
Its seems that Brenda is now in the same adoration league as Rafael now, a rs was telling me how Benda is the one who turned Suarez unto World Class and will do the same with the other players.
I give you RAWK at its finest
Kopites, RAWKites, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to consider Luis, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their transfers;
So let it be with Luis. The noble Blatter
Hath told you Luis was brutish:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Luis answer'd it.
There, under leave of Blatter and the rest--
For Blatter is an honourable man;
So are they all, FIFA, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Luis's leaving do.
He was my hero, faithful and just to me:
But Blatter says he was brutish;
And Blatter is an honourable man.
He hath scored many goals here at home
Whose aspirations did these goals fulfil?
Did this in Luis seem ambitious?
When that the ‘Pool have cried, Luis hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Blatter says he was brutish;
And Blatter is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the December 13th
He was presented with the kingly armband…
Which he did return to Agger: was this ambition?
Yet Barcelona says he is ambitious;
And, sure, they are honourable men.
I speak not to disprove what Blatter spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the Camp Nou there with Luis,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
http://www.redandwhitekop.com/forum/index.php?topic=314851.msg12981990#msg12981990
Sort of called it. Liverpool fans didn't realise how badly their negotiating position was dented by what Suarez did - they lost £20m on him in a split second.
In honesty, they're lucky to get £60m approx for him as if Barcelona were not so desperate as to sell their soul for a few years out of a talented player then the buyers market for him wouldn't be there after that bite and the subsequent outrageous lies.
I'm still amazed Barca want to sign a racist, dirty biter tbh. Indicative of their decline over the last year or so.
Liverpool in for 33year old left back Ashley Cole. Obviously bollocks as he isn't from Southampton.
It wuz FIFA.give you RAWK at its finest
Kopites, RAWKites, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to consider Luis, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their transfers;
So let it be with Luis. The noble Blatter
Hath told you Luis was brutish:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Luis answer'd it.
There, under leave of Blatter and the rest--
For Blatter is an honourable man;
So are they all, FIFA, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Luis's leaving do.
He was my hero, faithful and just to me:
But Blatter says he was brutish;
And Blatter is an honourable man.
He hath scored many goals here at home
Whose aspirations did these goals fulfil?
Did this in Luis seem ambitious?
When that the ‘Pool have cried, Luis hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Blatter says he was brutish;
And Blatter is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the December 13th
He was presented with the kingly armband…
Which he did return to Agger: was this ambition?
Yet Barcelona says he is ambitious;
And, sure, they are honourable men.
I speak not to disprove what Blatter spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the Camp Nou there with Luis,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
http://www.redandwhitekop.com/forum/index.php?topic=314851.msg12981990#msg12981990
In deepest slumber the scent of you fulfils me. My eyes open and I reach for you. I stroke your funny shaped ears and trace your jaw line tenderly with my finger. You giggle and playfully snap at my finger, and I giggle too.
Then it all fades and my eyes open for real. You are not there. There isn’t even a dent in the pillow for you have not been there for so long now. Away for the Summer and how I missed you. Now it seems you shall not return my darling Luis.
Bitterly provoked into an uncharacteristic retaliation and your dream was in tatters – as mine is now.
I have no one to incriminate me. No back (and front) pages raging at my petty indiscretions. All I have is support for what I feel right now, from those who understand – those who love you like I do.
Did you ever love me? Did you ever love Liverpool Football club the way we do? I’m sure you did, but there’s only so much venomous bile from the media that a man can tolerate.
Yes Luis, you ARE a man. You have children. You love them. Who can forget that terrible Summer when the media reported that you said those terrible things? You turned up at the Coliseum of Caresses carrying your baby. Afraid that we would say mean things to you, so little Delfonic did shield you from potential brickbats the way only a loving child could.
It’s hard to focus on the poster of you I have on my wall. Hard to see through the tears, but the image of you glows like a movie star through the filter of moisture on my eyes. I bite myself just to prove that I can still feel. And I can.
I am crying and shaking right now as I picture you scoring glorious goal after glorious goal wearing the blue and red. At least a part of you will still be red. But they will not love you as we do. No t-shirts. No banners. No bullets in the post to your detractors.
I want to tell you that you will always walk alone from now on – but that’s not the Liverpool Way.
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are. And you make it hard. Very hard.
I shake a little more.
In deepest slumber the scent of you fulfils me. My eyes open and I reach for you. I stroke your funny shaped ears and trace your jaw line tenderly with my finger. You giggle and playfully snap at my finger, and I giggle too.
Then it all fades and my eyes open for real. You are not there. There isn’t even a dent in the pillow for you have not been there for so long now. Away for the Summer and how I missed you. Now it seems you shall not return my darling Luis.
Bitterly provoked into an uncharacteristic retaliation and your dream was in tatters – as mine is now.
I have no one to incriminate me. No back (and front) pages raging at my petty indiscretions. All I have is support for what I feel right now, from those who understand – those who love you like I do.
Did you ever love me? Did you ever love Liverpool Football club the way we do? I’m sure you did, but there’s only so much venomous bile from the media that a man can tolerate.
Yes Luis, you ARE a man. You have children. You love them. Who can forget that terrible Summer when the media reported that you said those terrible things? You turned up at the Coliseum of Caresses carrying your baby. Afraid that we would say mean things to you, so little Delfonic did shield you from potential brickbats the way only a loving child could.
It’s hard to focus on the poster of you I have on my wall. Hard to see through the tears, but the image of you glows like a movie star through the filter of moisture on my eyes. I bite myself just to prove that I can still feel. And I can.
I am crying and shaking right now as I picture you scoring glorious goal after glorious goal wearing the blue and red. At least a part of you will still be red. But they will not love you as we do. No t-shirts. No banners. No bullets in the post to your detractors.
I want to tell you that you will always walk alone from now on – but that’s not the Liverpool Way.
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are. And you make it hard. Very hard.
I shake a little more.
In deepest slumber the scent of you fulfils me. My eyes open and I reach for you. I stroke your funny shaped ears and trace your jaw line tenderly with my finger. You giggle and playfully snap at my finger, and I giggle too.
Then it all fades and my eyes open for real. You are not there. There isn’t even a dent in the pillow for you have not been there for so long now. Away for the Summer and how I missed you. Now it seems you shall not return my darling Luis.
Bitterly provoked into an uncharacteristic retaliation and your dream was in tatters – as mine is now.
I have no one to incriminate me. No back (and front) pages raging at my petty indiscretions. All I have is support for what I feel right now, from those who understand – those who love you like I do.
Did you ever love me? Did you ever love Liverpool Football club the way we do? I’m sure you did, but there’s only so much venomous bile from the media that a man can tolerate.
Yes Luis, you ARE a man. You have children. You love them. Who can forget that terrible Summer when the media reported that you said those terrible things? You turned up at the Coliseum of Caresses carrying your baby. Afraid that we would say mean things to you, so little Delfonic did shield you from potential brickbats the way only a loving child could.
It’s hard to focus on the poster of you I have on my wall. Hard to see through the tears, but the image of you glows like a movie star through the filter of moisture on my eyes. I bite myself just to prove that I can still feel. And I can.
I am crying and shaking right now as I picture you scoring glorious goal after glorious goal wearing the blue and red. At least a part of you will still be red. But they will not love you as we do. No t-shirts. No banners. No bullets in the post to your detractors.
I want to tell you that you will always walk alone from now on – but that’s not the Liverpool Way.
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are. And you make it hard. Very hard.
I shake a little more.