Something else, eh!I've never heard a socialist (or a capitalist for that matter) come out with the absolute guff that LFC fans spout.
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Something else, eh!I've never heard a socialist (or a capitalist for that matter) come out with the absolute guff that LFC fans spout.
RAWK again.
Oh come on. That has to be a blue or Manc messing about?
Also, I love how they drag Shankly's name in to everything. I bet the bloke has spun in his coffin so many times that he's excavated his own grave so deep that he's now right next to the earth's core.
I reckon so too. But it is pertinent that we are not sure it is!
Honestly, some of the quotes they come out with (LFC fans generally, not just RAWK) make them sound like some sort of socialist organisation.
"Shankly was a socialist so I must be one too...." . I firmly believe that's where the 'cult' (sic, perhaps) behaviour comes from.
Like an anti-NHS. LFC - the national conspiracy service.
the mourinho of his time, a narcissist who loves a sound bite, top manager no doubt, the way they hate jose and can't see the similarity does amuse meWhat a load of bollocks that was: 'Shankly the socialist.' How did that manifest itself like?
He was a weird old autocratic crank who treated players like something he stepped in.
Lovely feller.
Oh ate, there's no doubting his managerial talents.the mourinho of his time, a narcissist who loves a sound bite, top manager no doubt, the way they hate jose and can't see the similarity does amuse me
Kopites give this review one star. Kudos to the reviewer...
"Football? Bloody hell!", as Bill Shankly once said.
By the final chapter of this book I was kneeling on the floor of my living room, floods of tears pattering onto my replica kit, wailing like a hysterical gibbon. My dogs, Rushie and Aldo, wailed in solidarity with me. They understood; my wife didn't. I felled her with a right hook.
Imagine if all you ever wanted was a carrot cake, and then, after 25 years without one, you see your most loyal friend walking towards your house smiling, carrying a carrot cake with your name on it. As he reaches your drive, he tumbles calamitously into a ditch. You rush out to find him writhing in agony amongst a cakey-muddy mess, a hungry raven pecking at his flesh. That is how we Liverpool fans feel about the 13/14 season (the raven is Tony Pulis, by the way).
This book is not just some cynical cash-in to make money out of Irish people. Paul Tomkins has truly encapsulated the modern-day Liverpool Football Club experience in literary form: the misty-eyed sentimentality, the endless self-mythologizing and, above all, the abject, humiliating failure. YNWA.
So done. Fantastic.
What a load of bollocks that was: 'Shankly the socialist.' How did that manifest itself like?
He was a weird old autocratic crank who treated players like something he stepped in.
Lovely feller.