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ECHO Comment: "Fears of Witch-hunt Against Liverpool FC"

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riddick said:
On a side note, did anyone keep up with that whole 'TheRealAnichebe' that used to absolutely make them fume after Big Vic left? That was class how they thought it was the real player making those tweets.
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haha that twitter account in general was one of the best things ever, how the RS thought it was real and sent a fake twitter account racist abuse just added to it
 


Dear Mario,

How turmoiled has your mind been? Do you cry and shake as I do? Know that you are not alone. We are different and yet the same. Embracing the rapture we sprinkle our devotion. Rivulets of compassion flow into the goalmouth at the Kop End.

Brendan said ‘no’. You caught your breath. Again they pressed him, hoping for a fish. He denied you again. Denied you three times before the cock. All the while desiring you, but keeping it to himself, like the Sphinx. In Egypt. Anticipating rejection he acted with supreme indifference as to your coming. He hungered for your delicate touch of the ball in the famous red shirt.

Mario, did you feel yourself drawn to Brendan and us? Did you feel the heat from the private candles thrust into the night of our wanting you?

You may say ‘no’, yet here you are before us. Ivory velvet dream. I sensuously trace the veins of your muscles. Why always you, Mario? Because your hands hold my heart.

Yes, we are different, and you shall soon find out the power of that simple word ‘different’. We sing unlike no other followers of lesser clubs. We are like that ugly toothless rugby player who sang ‘God Save The Queen’, only we cry more. And shake. And I want you to shake for ME Mario. For us. My passion flows like rivers to the sky. And after all the loves of my life, I’ll be thinking of you.

You may recall, as do I, your last appearance on the Elysian fields of Paradise, you left early. You lost control. The occasion became too much for you and you saw red. I am sure you imagined all sorts of racist abuse as you trundled off to the dressing room. But that was just imagination, running away with you. We knew you would be back, this time on the side of beauty. And I get weak in the presence of yours.

When your glorious foot strikes the sphere of destiny into the red net – look up at the Kop. You will see 20,000 eyes glistening for you. Yet, mine will cut through, for you have read my letter. You know. Once you pull on the red, you belong to us. You are family. Closer than family. Closer than love.

Yours,

The High Priest of Tears.
x
 
ScouseBlueBoy said:
Dear Mario,

How turmoiled has your mind been? Do you cry and shake as I do? Know that you are not alone. We are different and yet the same. Embracing the rapture we sprinkle our devotion. Rivulets of compassion flow into the goalmouth at the Kop End.

Brendan said ‘no’. You caught your breath. Again they pressed him, hoping for a fish. He denied you again. Denied you three times before the cock. All the while desiring you, but keeping it to himself, like the Sphinx. In Egypt. Anticipating rejection he acted with supreme indifference as to your coming. He hungered for your delicate touch of the ball in the famous red shirt.

Mario, did you feel yourself drawn to Brendan and us? Did you feel the heat from the private candles thrust into the night of our wanting you?

You may say ‘no’, yet here you are before us. Ivory velvet dream. I sensuously trace the veins of your muscles. Why always you, Mario? Because your hands hold my heart.

Yes, we are different, and you shall soon find out the power of that simple word ‘different’. We sing unlike no other followers of lesser clubs. We are like that ugly toothless rugby player who sang ‘God Save The Queen’, only we cry more. And shake. And I want you to shake for ME Mario. For us. My passion flows like rivers to the sky. And after all the loves of my life, I’ll be thinking of you.

You may recall, as do I, your last appearance on the Elysian fields of Paradise, you left early. You lost control. The occasion became too much for you and you saw red. I am sure you imagined all sorts of racist abuse as you trundled off to the dressing room. But that was just imagination, running away with you. We knew you would be back, this time on the side of beauty. And I get weak in the presence of yours.

When your glorious foot strikes the sphere of destiny into the red net – look up at the Kop. You will see 20,000 eyes glistening for you. Yet, mine will cut through, for you have read my letter. You know. Once you pull on the red, you belong to us. You are family. Closer than family. Closer than love.

Yours,

The High Priest of Tears.
x
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Hahaha, beautiful.
 

ScouseBlueBoy said:
Dear Mario,

How turmoiled has your mind been? Do you cry and shake as I do? Know that you are not alone. We are different and yet the same. Embracing the rapture we sprinkle our devotion. Rivulets of compassion flow into the goalmouth at the Kop End.

Brendan said ‘no’. You caught your breath. Again they pressed him, hoping for a fish. He denied you again. Denied you three times before the cock. All the while desiring you, but keeping it to himself, like the Sphinx. In Egypt. Anticipating rejection he acted with supreme indifference as to your coming. He hungered for your delicate touch of the ball in the famous red shirt.

Mario, did you feel yourself drawn to Brendan and us? Did you feel the heat from the private candles thrust into the night of our wanting you?

You may say ‘no’, yet here you are before us. Ivory velvet dream. I sensuously trace the veins of your muscles. Why always you, Mario? Because your hands hold my heart.

Yes, we are different, and you shall soon find out the power of that simple word ‘different’. We sing unlike no other followers of lesser clubs. We are like that ugly toothless rugby player who sang ‘God Save The Queen’, only we cry more. And shake. And I want you to shake for ME Mario. For us. My passion flows like rivers to the sky. And after all the loves of my life, I’ll be thinking of you.

You may recall, as do I, your last appearance on the Elysian fields of Paradise, you left early. You lost control. The occasion became too much for you and you saw red. I am sure you imagined all sorts of racist abuse as you trundled off to the dressing room. But that was just imagination, running away with you. We knew you would be back, this time on the side of beauty. And I get weak in the presence of yours.

When your glorious foot strikes the sphere of destiny into the red net – look up at the Kop. You will see 20,000 eyes glistening for you. Yet, mine will cut through, for you have read my letter. You know. Once you pull on the red, you belong to us. You are family. Closer than family. Closer than love.

Yours,

The High Priest of Tears.
x
Click to expand...

Crying and shaking here.

YNWA.
 

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