Evening peeps, ‘tis I, Dobster wi’ greetings and sincerest apologies to y’all. Last week I whinged like Arsey Whinger about the quality of the games in the Prem o’er the bank ‘oliday. Bugger me folks! The FA and Prem must’ve finally taken notice o’ me forthright and totally accurate assessment o’ their league cos, bugger me backwards - what a weekend this has been!
First o’ all, we ‘ad BURnleY holding the ‘mighty’ - don’t make me laff - Man Reunited to a goalless bore draw. ‘ere we go again thinks me; bloody Van Hire doing his impression o’ Scolari at Chelski again - gobbing about how this game would kickstart their season for ‘em to finish top 4, win the Prem next season, then the Champion’s League the season after. Really? REALLY? Delusional fuckwit. Guess the messianic Tia Maria dint make much difference then…
So, there I was, thinking - not another shit weekend of boring action, when - woaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh! Holy Moses! Mantreasurechester City - at HOME - with 150million % of the possession, manage to get mugged by Mark ‘canny bastard’ Hughes and ‘is swag-bagged masked marauders, Steak City. Phew! Shocker! I think I were more shocked than Pelican in the Man City dugout!
Then, peeps, Chrysophase Palace only go and hire Wally Warnock - and the canny warrior pulls off a shocker too - holding Pewcastle 3 all at the Cheapo Sports Goods Stadium! 3 goals in a game? That’s the total for the season I thought they’d manage! Double bugger me!
PQRSTU then stage a re-enactment of Stalingrad in their stadium and, even without Remyngton Steel, who’s spotted greener grass down Chelski’s way, beat B-teamer Blunderland. Triple bugger me!
Calming down a tad, I thought I’d take in the standard bore draw of Onesie and West Sandwich Albumen when - Bam! Onesie only cream them 3 nil, from their deck chairs, wi’ ash dropping all over the pitch from their cigars! WTF? By now I was reeling from the shock, piled on the shock, topped off with the shock. I was in shock. Shock I tell ya!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Thank God for Louthampton restoring some normality to proceedings. Putting West Shambles to the sword at their own place calmed me down for a while. Same old, same old Sammy - but he’s being a bit canny in the back end of this transfer window, so we may see some improvement in the weeks to come. Watch this space…
So, back to chilled Dobbie, I settled down to watch Neverton give Chelski the first real test of their over-rated season. Holy crap! Double Holy crap! Within 5 minutes I were ‘iding behind me sofa, blubbering like a big kiddy peeps! WTF? Neverton imploded from kick-off; and then the combination of Stevie Wonder, Hellen Keller and Roy Orbison refereeing the match made me alternately blaspheme at the screen, and laff me bloody socks off! Chelski’s second was blatantly offside, Fabregas played a Neverton player clean through - who was then pulled for off-side (!?), Howard should have been sent off - twice! Once for handling so far out of his box he was in my front garden, then for offering Costa Coffee outside for a spot of fisticuffs (which was thoroughly deserved as Coffee did display his ability to be a total twat). Costa might ‘ave bagged a brace in this one, but gimmees and tap-ins will dry up at some point, and now Torrid has gone back to Europe, he needn’t relax. It was nice to see Etu Brutus pop up with a top class finish for old time’s sake. Neverton
eventually went down 6-3 in a game that I can guarantee will be the most bizarre of the season - and created yet another record in the process. They’ve now scored 44 own goals - the most in Prem ‘istory. And they’ve always been renowned for strong defensive displays - it’s a bloody funny old world folks!
After a harsh night’s shaking in me bed, wondering what shockers Sunday would bring, I woke up grumpy, who made me breakfast (boom, boom!), and tried me best to mentally prepare meself for the games ahead. Well peeps, Aston Vanilla started me off again. One of the whipping boys o’ the Prem as far as I’m concerned, managed to beat Dull some ‘ow. Dull by name…
What I considered when I looked at the fixtures, as joint game o’ the weekend along wi’ Chelski/Neverton, Ditherfool and Twittering Shitspurs didn’t disappoint. Which is more than can be said for Twittering. Europe’s gonna be a long haul for Shitspurs, and if they’re delusional enough to think they’ll qualify again next season, they’re a picnic short of a picnic. Ditherfool proved their class and improvement yet again, and I still put them second or third, fighting Chelski all the way to the end.
Finally, we had the laughing stock that is Arse-nil. No matter what they do, they’ll never get it right. Not to take anything away from the battling Crisp-nickers of Fester City, but no matter what Arsey Whinger does, or who he buys, Arse-nil are a broken product, cracks showing when the pressure’s on, failing to finish games and shut up shop when ahead. Top four is a pipe-dream for ‘em at the moment, mark my words. And as for Alexis Pancho Sanchez - he’d be better off tilting at windmills. A gimmee tap-in will not ever justify his price-tag or the reputation they put on him as the new messiah - sounding familiar, Van Hire? Fish-face Persil last season, now this joker. Arsey - please sort yer ‘ead out.
Phew! That’s it for a few weeks, thank flip. Now it’s the International break, where we watch Roy Podgeson cock it up again when he picks half the Man Reunited losers, still under the (d)illusion that Jones and Smalling are England standard. Although looking at the team’s shit display in the World Cup, he’s probably right…
So peeps, I’m off for a well-deserved break and to lie down an’ get me nerves back in line after this weekend o’ shockers and shocks! One thing’s for sure, I won’t be moaning about it being bloody boring again! At least, not for a fortnight! LOL
See ya soon folks!
Tata fo’ now.
Now, where’s Grumpy when you need a ‘massage’…
