Bungle
Player Valuation: £90m
I wasn't being rude carlos, I just didn't want to be left standing there like a loner
Follow along with the video below to see how to install our site as a web app on your home screen.
Note: This feature may not be available in some browsers.
My Football Diary
- Thread starter MickM86
- Start date
- Status
I wasn't being rude carlos, I just didn't want to be left standing there like a loner
carlos21
KING OF REP
okay mate score tonight.
Bungle
Player Valuation: £90m
If Mick brings his bird I might
carlos21
KING OF REP
I love mick ask him about his bird.
carlos21
KING OF REP
nice one kid.
carlos21
KING OF REP
I agree there dude.
What ever happened to Skol, used to be big in the day.
I thought Mick would have drank Lambrini not Bud.
I thought Mick would have drank Lambrini not Bud.
carlos21
KING OF REP
I know mate.
What score will we win by tonight Carlos? I reckon 2-1
carlos21
KING OF REP
4.0 baines.
orchard
Player Valuation: £60m
They were the days...think they still get Skol in Ireland.
I'm sure you can buy a whole 24 slab of skol in supermarkets for about 90 pence or something. They still use it on their morning cornflakes in Scotland I heard.
Pat's Van
Player Valuation: £70m
On the coach again and we’re getting nearer. I’m excited now. I was worried a bit at first because of my run in with the racists the other day, but this time I’m prepared. I’m wearing an old A-Team t-shirt on which Mr T is quite prominent and looking very surly, there’ll be no prejudice now, not on his watch haha crazy fools.
My bird is listening to her tunes on her ipod. She’s got a weird habit of doing this every time I turn to talk to her.
My mind drifts off to Everton teams of the past. I think about what it must have been like to play at the old Wembley in a cup final. I see myself stepping up to take a penalty against the RS. “Mick-Mick-Mick” the crowd are chanting in unison, “Mick-Mick-Mick”. I stare at the keeper, he stares back, then gradually, slowly at first, he morphs into a giant jammie dodger.
“Mick-Mick-Mick” the crowd chants. I run up and f**king tw*t that ball as hard as I can and it soars through the air and hits the goalie right slap bang in the middle of his strawberry jam centre. He explodes into fireworks and a shower of toffees rains down on the stadium. Unbelievable stuff.
My teammates surround me “Mick-Mick-Mick” they are saying, and one of them is jabbing me hard in the ribs. I wake up suddenly to my bird poking me in the ribs, “Mick, Mick, Mick, do you want a go of this spliff?” she asks. There is a thick cloud of ganja smoke surrounding us. “No thanks” I reply, and I suddenly have a very weird craving for jammie dodgers and some toffees.
I make my way up to the driver and demand he stop at the next services so I can buy some sweets. He gives me some lame excuse about not stopping again before we get to London. I have to use all my powers of persuasion to convince him and at the same time let him catch a little bit of my Mr-T-shirt just so he knows I mean business. He relents, and stops, I’m the only one hungry though so I get off the coach alone. I see a hard shoulder and nothing more. When I turn around to ask the driver where the services are, the doors close, and the bus drives off.
“London 34 miles” a sign says. I start to walk. The A-team theme tune fills my head.
My bird is listening to her tunes on her ipod. She’s got a weird habit of doing this every time I turn to talk to her.
My mind drifts off to Everton teams of the past. I think about what it must have been like to play at the old Wembley in a cup final. I see myself stepping up to take a penalty against the RS. “Mick-Mick-Mick” the crowd are chanting in unison, “Mick-Mick-Mick”. I stare at the keeper, he stares back, then gradually, slowly at first, he morphs into a giant jammie dodger.
“Mick-Mick-Mick” the crowd chants. I run up and f**king tw*t that ball as hard as I can and it soars through the air and hits the goalie right slap bang in the middle of his strawberry jam centre. He explodes into fireworks and a shower of toffees rains down on the stadium. Unbelievable stuff.
My teammates surround me “Mick-Mick-Mick” they are saying, and one of them is jabbing me hard in the ribs. I wake up suddenly to my bird poking me in the ribs, “Mick, Mick, Mick, do you want a go of this spliff?” she asks. There is a thick cloud of ganja smoke surrounding us. “No thanks” I reply, and I suddenly have a very weird craving for jammie dodgers and some toffees.
I make my way up to the driver and demand he stop at the next services so I can buy some sweets. He gives me some lame excuse about not stopping again before we get to London. I have to use all my powers of persuasion to convince him and at the same time let him catch a little bit of my Mr-T-shirt just so he knows I mean business. He relents, and stops, I’m the only one hungry though so I get off the coach alone. I see a hard shoulder and nothing more. When I turn around to ask the driver where the services are, the doors close, and the bus drives off.
“London 34 miles” a sign says. I start to walk. The A-team theme tune fills my head.
- Status