ScouseBlueBoy
Player Valuation: £15m
We are getting there. Minute by minute. Play by play. The vein-bursting courage and resilience from our Blue Men guided by the Archbishop of Love, Compassion and Grace St. David Moyes, makes my heart ache with nostalgia for a lost Avalon and hope for a beckoning land of Unicorns and Fairy Queens. And it is coming. Be under no illusions. It is real. It is happening and I thank all that is Holy and beautiful in the world that I will be allowed – nay PRIVILEDGED – to witness the rapture.
At Norwich we delighted the eye and the gut-pounding heroics of the Spartan warriors in blue inflamed the souls of all those who had only heard of such things whispered in shadows in darkened rooms as tomes of legend never to be read by human eyes.
Battling against the blatant and evil corruption of the officials (men with blackened hollow lives and souls bereft of all that is good and decent in this land we optimistically describe as ‘fair’) we strove to the point where blood was oozing though our pores, rendering our majestic blue a regal shade of purple.
Like a fireman climbing up a leviathanesque ladder to enter the top floor of a burning skyscraper to rescue babies, we bravely entered the apocalypse known as Carrow Road. Carrying FOUR babies gingerly down the ladder, the fireman never wavered. The fumes invading the nostrils and dulling the senses of the fireman known as Everton Football Club, the grip became more and more tenuous and all five fell (the fireman and the four babies) like Icarus. The tragedy was too much to bear. But not for us. We witnessed heroism at its absolute zenith.
I am crying and shaking right now. So much I look like a big sprinkler. A sprinkler to quench the fire of the smouldering ashes of a defeat which is more like a victory, because the bursting pride I have in Everton Football Club means that I will always be a conqueror of adversity and evil. I am beloved of Gods because I have been kissed by Everton Football Club.
At Norwich we delighted the eye and the gut-pounding heroics of the Spartan warriors in blue inflamed the souls of all those who had only heard of such things whispered in shadows in darkened rooms as tomes of legend never to be read by human eyes.
Battling against the blatant and evil corruption of the officials (men with blackened hollow lives and souls bereft of all that is good and decent in this land we optimistically describe as ‘fair’) we strove to the point where blood was oozing though our pores, rendering our majestic blue a regal shade of purple.
Like a fireman climbing up a leviathanesque ladder to enter the top floor of a burning skyscraper to rescue babies, we bravely entered the apocalypse known as Carrow Road. Carrying FOUR babies gingerly down the ladder, the fireman never wavered. The fumes invading the nostrils and dulling the senses of the fireman known as Everton Football Club, the grip became more and more tenuous and all five fell (the fireman and the four babies) like Icarus. The tragedy was too much to bear. But not for us. We witnessed heroism at its absolute zenith.
I am crying and shaking right now. So much I look like a big sprinkler. A sprinkler to quench the fire of the smouldering ashes of a defeat which is more like a victory, because the bursting pride I have in Everton Football Club means that I will always be a conqueror of adversity and evil. I am beloved of Gods because I have been kissed by Everton Football Club.