Day 1970. He’s still here, specifically praising someone who was never our manager. How about specifically mentioning our management team for an outstanding effort despite his bad ownership? Ohforcryingwhatanidiotoutloud
It’s another Saturday morning, and B.O is in his shed with his coffee, reflecting on the many managers he’s given the team, which have amazingly improved performances on the pitch every time. ” We were struggling near the bottom of one league, and look at us now, we’re right near the top of this one!” Huh!” he exclaims proudly. He takes a sip of coffee, and thinks back to all the managers he had personally hand picked, out of a hat. The names flood back to him, Chris Pole, Big Bald Bloke, Guy Loser, ‘Spinload’ Fry, Billy Wilder, Brussel Sludge, Karl Pilkington and of course, the current guru, El Bo ( which he would surely get if he didn’t sign his effing contract soon) He gives a contented sigh. Ah well it was the weekend. He would have a quiet one. The season was over. No more football to worry about for a few weeks, He makes a mental note to cancel NOW tv, and arrives at a decision. He’d watch a Billy Wilder film. Great manager, great film maker. Let’s leave the B.O to his own brilliance for another morning, and meanwhile, let’s hope a little sunshine falls onto SE7 in the coming weeks. Come on lads... He’s still here. Ohfircryingoutloud
It’s another Saturday morning, and B.O is in his shed with his coffee, reflecting on the many managers he’s given the team, which have amazingly improved performances on the pitch every time. ” We were struggling near the bottom of one league, and look at us now, we’re right near the top of this one!” Huh!” he exclaims proudly. He takes a sip of coffee, and thinks back to all the managers he had personally hand picked, out of a hat. The names flood back to him, Chris Pole, Big Bald Bloke, Guy Loser, ‘Spinload’ Fry, Billy Wilder, Brussel Sludge, Karl Pilkington and of course, the current guru, El Bo ( which he would surely get if he didn’t sign his effing contract soon) He gives a contented sigh. Ah well it was the weekend. He would have a quiet one. The season was over. No more football to worry about for a few weeks, He makes a mental note to cancel NOW tv, and arrives at a decision. He’d watch a Billy Wilder film. Great manager, great film maker. Let’s leave the B.O to his own brilliance for another morning, and meanwhile, let’s hope a little sunshine falls onto SE7 in the coming weeks. Come on lads... He’s still here. Ohfircryingoutloud
Usually...I stop reading halfway through. That one was my personal favourite.
What an advert for our club last night,any prospective buyers would be well impressed,just think Roland,with a little bit of common sense and understanding,you could have been part of that ,instead you did it your way and are now the despised person that you are.
Deep inside the heavily fortified bunker, under the shed, the B.O watches grimly as the two shadowy figures move across the screen before him. Yes, there they were. Those infernal bastard S/T’s. The Soft Terrorists. Code named Barbara and Peter from the West Stand. They were coming for him.
But this time he would be ready for them.
He watches as they approach the house, steadily. He’s done his research on these two, he knows their methods all right. He almost has a hint of admiration for the brazen way they now walk silently up the drive. By God, he muses ruefully, the pair of them were soft, their frames honed almost beyond endurance by years of match day pies, their minds no doubt sharpened by hours spent watching Countdown. ( though Barbara would often claim Peter only watched it for ‘that bird’, the B.O chuckles grimly. A likely story.)
He can now see they are carrying something, and he tenses up, his nerves tighter than a budget for first team catering. Was this the moment, as they approach the front door?
They stop, and then one of them pulls something slowly from a rucksack.
Then he sees.
Oh my God, he realises, the blood draining from his face, they were going to blow up................a big balloon!
Ten minutes earlier, the two internationally renowned soft terrorists, Barbara and Peter, had been crouched down behind their Mazda 5, ready to go into action.
Suddenly a small voice had crackled out over a tiny speaker next to Barbara.
“ Broadsword calling Danny Boy! Broadsword calling Danny Boy!”
Barbara looked at Peter sternly.
“ LOOK, WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT!” She hisses irritably “I’M RIGHT NEXT TO YOU! PUT THAT BLOODY PHONE AWAY AND HELP ME FIND THESE KEYS, FOR GOD’S SAKE. I’VE DROPPED THEM SOMEWHERE...”
“ We’ll miss the match at this rate.” mutters Peter.
“ That’s helpful.“ replies Babs, peering under the car.
Finally, the keys are found again, and now they are ready to go.
“ Right, before we set off, let’s just check we’ve got everything.” She says, pulling out a list.
“ Tea?”
Peter holds up a flask.
Babs nods. That was always a good start.
She looks round. Peter’s sister was still sitting in the car.
“ Just remind me, why did you bring her again?” She asks.
“ Well, sorry, I thought you said bring a tart and blanket.” replies Peter.
Babs shakes her head with a sigh and continues.
“ Ok, to the important stuff. The polite letter with Our Points of Concern? The big balloon with his face on it?”
“ Yes, but we haven’t blown it up yet.” replies Peter.
“ Oh, we’ll do that when we get there.” says Babs, dismissively. “Right, come on, let’s get this over with. It’s only a small gesture, but we have to show our feelings somehow.”
Peter nods.
Soft terrorists be damned.
They were just a couple of decent folk trying to make their feelings known to an owner who thought they were stupid and didn’t matter.
Well, let’s leave the B.O exactly where he needs to be this weekend. Not with us.
Well Day 1989 turned out to be quite a day. A win for all the supporters, from a magnificent effort by Bowyer, Jacko and the team. Day 1990 has arrived, and it seems there are people here that are really wanted at this club and some that really aren’t. And they seem to feel the same. Let’s hope finally in the coming months, some common sense prevails and that football club and fans can continue this journey together without unnecessary hindrance.
Day 1991. Well, we’re closing in on 2000 days of all this, it would be nice if the experiment could finish fairly soon now. It hasn’t achieved anything but at least we are almost back roughly where we started. After the fiasco of the last few years, I think most of us would take that. He’s still here. Hopefully this is the fork in the road. Take the money and run, Roly. It’s time to let go.
Comments
He’s still here, specifically praising someone who was never our manager. How about specifically mentioning our management team for an outstanding effort despite his bad ownership?
Ohforcryingwhatanidiotoutloud
He’s still here.
Ohfucryingoutloud...
He’s still here.
Ohfacryingoutloud
He’s still here
oh just bollocks...
462 BC = (Before C*nt)
The good part of the Chris Powell era, for example
It’s another Saturday morning, and B.O is in his shed with his coffee, reflecting on the many managers he’s given the team, which have amazingly improved performances on the pitch every time.
” We were struggling near the bottom of one league, and look at us now, we’re right near the top of this one!” Huh!” he exclaims proudly.
He takes a sip of coffee, and thinks back to all the managers he had personally hand picked, out of a hat.
The names flood back to him, Chris Pole, Big Bald Bloke, Guy Loser, ‘Spinload’ Fry, Billy Wilder, Brussel Sludge, Karl Pilkington and of course, the current guru, El Bo ( which he would surely get if he didn’t sign his effing contract soon)
He gives a contented sigh. Ah well it was the weekend. He would have a quiet one. The season was over. No more football to worry about for a few weeks, He makes a mental note to cancel NOW tv, and arrives at a decision. He’d watch a Billy Wilder film. Great manager, great film maker.
Let’s leave the B.O to his own brilliance for another morning, and meanwhile, let’s hope a little sunshine falls onto SE7 in the coming weeks.
Come on lads...
He’s still here.
Ohfircryingoutloud
👌
Good win yesterday.
He’s still here.
Ohforcryingoutloud...
He’s still here.
ohforcryingoutloud
He’s still here.
oh4cryingoutloud
I quite like him.
The Odd One is still here.
Ohforweirdingoutloud...
He’s still here.
COYR
Well, how about that?
Well done Bow, Jacko and the lads.
He’s still here, but for today, it’s not about him.
OhforgoingtoWembley
He’s still here.
Ohforcryingoutloud
Big Brother probably won’t be watching on a live feed.
He’s still here.
Oh winston.
He’s still here.
But we’re going to Wembley without him
Still here.
Blah blah blah
Roly's gonna do it again
You can't stop im
The twat from Belgium
The twat who causes pain...
He’s still here.
But he won’t be there.
Wait a minute....I think that's under 2%...of attendance?
The lying C*nt.
Thanks for moaning to Jim White about the fact that you don't want to watch Charlton games.
A really necessary pre recorded phone call that was.
Cheers.
Deep inside the heavily fortified bunker, under the shed, the B.O watches grimly as the two shadowy figures move across the screen before him. Yes, there they were. Those infernal bastard S/T’s. The Soft Terrorists. Code named Barbara and Peter from the West Stand. They were coming for him.
But this time he would be ready for them.
He watches as they approach the house, steadily. He’s done his research on these two, he knows their methods all right. He almost has a hint of admiration for the brazen way they now walk silently up the drive. By God, he muses ruefully, the pair of them were soft, their frames honed almost beyond endurance by years of match day pies, their minds no doubt sharpened by hours spent watching Countdown. ( though Barbara would often claim Peter only watched it for ‘that bird’, the B.O chuckles grimly. A likely story.)
He can now see they are carrying something, and he tenses up, his nerves tighter than a budget for first team catering. Was this the moment, as they approach the front door?
They stop, and then one of them pulls something slowly from a rucksack.
Then he sees.
Oh my God, he realises, the blood draining from his face, they were going to blow up................a big balloon!
Ten minutes earlier, the two internationally renowned soft terrorists, Barbara and Peter, had been crouched down behind their Mazda 5, ready to go into action.
Suddenly a small voice had crackled out over a tiny speaker next to Barbara.
“ Broadsword calling Danny Boy! Broadsword calling Danny Boy!”
Barbara looked at Peter sternly.
“ LOOK, WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT!” She hisses irritably “I’M RIGHT NEXT TO YOU! PUT THAT BLOODY PHONE AWAY AND HELP ME FIND THESE KEYS, FOR GOD’S SAKE. I’VE DROPPED THEM SOMEWHERE...”
“ We’ll miss the match at this rate.” mutters Peter.
“ That’s helpful.“ replies Babs, peering under the car.
Finally, the keys are found again, and now they are ready to go.
“ Right, before we set off, let’s just check we’ve got everything.” She says, pulling out a list.
“ Tea?”
Peter holds up a flask.
Babs nods. That was always a good start.
She looks round. Peter’s sister was still sitting in the car.
“ Just remind me, why did you bring her again?” She asks.
“ Well, sorry, I thought you said bring a tart and blanket.” replies Peter.
Babs shakes her head with a sigh and continues.
“ Ok, to the important stuff. The polite letter with Our Points of Concern? The big balloon with his face on it?”
“ Yes, but we haven’t blown it up yet.” replies Peter.
“ Oh, we’ll do that when we get there.” says Babs, dismissively. “Right, come on, let’s get this over with. It’s only a small gesture, but we have to show our feelings somehow.”
Peter nods.
Soft terrorists be damned.
They were just a couple of decent folk trying to make their feelings known to an owner who thought they were stupid and didn’t matter.
Well, let’s leave the B.O exactly where he needs to be this weekend. Not with us.
Have a good time everyone.
He’s still here.
A win for all the supporters, from a magnificent effort by Bowyer, Jacko and the team.
Day 1990 has arrived, and it seems there are people here that are really wanted at this club and some that really aren’t. And they seem to feel the same.
Let’s hope finally in the coming months, some common sense prevails and that football club and fans can continue this journey together without unnecessary hindrance.
Well, we’re closing in on 2000 days of all this, it would be nice if the experiment could finish fairly soon now. It hasn’t achieved anything but at least we are almost back roughly where we started. After the fiasco of the last few years, I think most of us would take that.
He’s still here.
Hopefully this is the fork in the road.
Take the money and run, Roly.
It’s time to let go.