Gawd ‘elp us.
I was minding me own business berating one of the stewards on Saturday (he’d let some Japanese folk in…there’s no call for that) when Theo bleedin’ Wingnut decided to try and break the goal at the Clock End.
What a strike! We should sell him now while we can because he’s only going to go down hill from now. Knowing Monsignor Venga though, he’ll probably start him in the cup final ffs. We all know Theo can’t shoot straight – he’s just a speed merchant who’s got no end product. We should swap him for Charlie Adams, there’s a proper footballer.
Nice to see Ken popping his ‘ead out after me last post. That was luverley, finally being (almost well virtually) reunited after all these years with my long lost little knee biter. You are spot on about Øzîl mate; nicking a living isn’t the half of it. Anyone see him tackle back on Sunday? First time EVAH! And you’re right about his eyes, a bit too Marty Feldman if you ask me.
And he’s muslin int’ he? So he shouldn’t even be playing on Saturdays, he should be in the synagogue or whatever it’s called. With no shoes. Let alone boots. A disgrace. That’s what it is. A bloody disgrace.
Anyway, my main reason for writing today was to complain about a pub round the corner from the ground. I went there before the ground to see if I could get that Tony bloke to cough up me fee for the last h’article wot I wrote. He tried to avoid me by coming down mob handed with 6 mates (although a few of them were pretty short geezers and I could have taken them easy).
Finally I tracked him to the Ché Guevara. What kind of a handle for a pub is that? Apparently, according to Tony this Che bloke played for Cuba but was born in Bolivia. What’s all that about? Its like Ramsey playing for Wales when he was born in Cardiff…it ain’t right. If you’re born in Cardiff you is English and you bloody well play for England (you listening Aaron?)
Anyway, back to the pub (those god knows why ‘cos it was another poncy foreign place – all bottled beers and salsa music) where I found Tony dancing around the place drinking some fancy plonk.
Apparently I don’t get a fee for writing these posts. Flipping’ liberty. Apparently no one does (not even that ref). Well that’s as maybe, next time Tony when you see how many millions I bring to your site you might have to re – con – sider me old china. The pub is within a spud’s throw of the ground (the new, rubbishy shiny one) but there was hardly a local bloke inside. No Irish, no proper geezers (well, me I s’pose) and lots of wimmin… even some Baggy women (by which I mean women wot supported West Brum, not baggy in that sense).
What in the world coming to when you let women in a pub? They should only be serving in pubs, not drinking in them, not on match days anyway. In fact what are they doing at football in the first place? A woman’s place is at home, waiting for her bloke to come home from football and ready to get off the sofa when its time for match of the day. And to have my tea ready.
Which reminds me. The old lady’s due home soon and I have get the bloody dishes done.
Laters Losers
Dial Square Dave
——————–
A suitable anniversary for Dave…
- 27 May 1998: Ian Wright and Martin Keown played for England in a 1-0 away victory in a friendly against Morocco. Wright was injured in the game and dropped out of World Cup squad.
And he’s muslin…
Hilarious, when i was young i did not know the difference either 🙂
Your insight had me quite literally laughing out loud. The culturally sensitive nature of the delivery was beyond compare. It is my sincere hope that one day we may all get to meet Dave and have a proper knees up after which we all get to take the p out of him. Thanks guys I am still chuckling.
Alright Bruv, good to see you back so soon, got to admit didn’t think that you would be back what with all the dodgy people around here, I told you to watch out for that Brickfields bloke and I was right.
You want to also watch out for the She Guevara types too, they wear berets and like left wing politics like that Frenchy Wenger bloke,and look how hes destroyed the Arsenal.They will be calling us Poncsenal soon. Take my tip mate dont have anything to do with them.Its all garlic and hairy armpits and blokes called Serge and stupid films. Mind you a bit of garlic in them mini Kiev’s isnt to bad is it?Do you still drink down at the Broken Arms?Dave who do you think should be the next Arsenal manager?Mum sends her best she says she found a picture of Ethel, and couldn’t believe how much she looked like Max Wall,cheers, Ken.
I was one of the guys who doubted Walcott. Every time I do that, he smacked my face with his speed and now his new obtained power. I’m at lost now.
hahahahahaha…..
I take a fence at yore pea taking. Knot two much mind. Any Waze walcoat shouldna plaid ’til he signed ‘is con-trac. Now ‘e’s gonna rip off winga
Ya know. Theo only scored a hat-trick cos e wanted de ball.
I heard e wozent happy an e wants anover won at Wembley, on Saturday.
Dave,
I must say I like your style.
In my youth I only went out with girls who knew the offside rule during the footer season and the LBW in the cricket season.
When I think back, I didn’t go out with girls very much.
About 67 years ago, I married my present wife (it’s best to refer to them as “present” to keep them on their toes).
Can’t recall the exact date but Arsenal won the Div 1 Championship that year and it was the time of Ronnie Rook, Joe Mercer and the Compton Brothers.
No real complaints about the marriage, except my wife’s obsession for adjusting curtains.
This has meant that I do all the cooking, cleaning, laundry etc, but I still never seem to adjust the curtains to her satisfaction. I am getting totally cheesed off about this and on our 68th anniversary next year, soon after my 92nd birthday and her 88th birthday, I’m going to raise a number of issues with her….unless Arsenal have a game on that day. 😉
Medja
Some drivel from Sky Sports (hypeing up game on Saturday):
> Mesut Ozil v Ashley Westwood
> … Villa will have to be particularly watchful of the German on Saturday as he could well find the space he craves in the wide open expanses of Wembley.
You read that, and you think that the pitch at Wembley is bigger than usual. Off to Wikipedia. Wenger Stadium, Villa Park and Wembley are all 105x68m. There is no more space at Wembley, there is no less space at Wembley.
—
Walter. The Guardian has a little article about a little house a stone’s throw from Wenger Stadium. The house looks to be part of a corner on a busy road. The floor plan looks to be a right isoceles triangle. I think it was 420 square feet on 2 levels. The article was talking about it being a freehold, which doesn’t mean much to me. But, I think the price was about 450,000 pounds. Maybe your good pal Blatter could give you the money for it?
What fun! But come now Dave, there’s one huge innaccuracy in your article. The Che sells San Miguel on tap 🙂
Brilliant ! Keep ’em coming !
60th High School Reunion
He was a widower and she a widow. They had known each other for a number of years being high school classmates and having attended class Reunions in the past without fail.
This 60th anniversary of their class, the widower and the widow made a foursome with two other singles.
They had a wonderful evening, their spirits high. The widower throwing admiring glances across the table. The widow smiling coyly back at him.
Finally, he picked up courage to ask her, “Will you marry me?”
After about six seconds of careful consideration, she answered, “Yes,….. Yes I will!”
The evening ended on a happy note for the widower. But the next morning he was troubled.
Did she say “Yes”, or did she say “No?”
He couldn’t remember. Try as he would, he just could not recall. He went over the conversation of the previous evening, But his mind was blank.
He remembered asking the question but for the life of him could not recall her response. With fear and trepidation he picked up the phone and called her.
First, he explained that he couldn’t remember as well as he used to. Then he reviewed the past evening. As he gained a little more courage he then inquired of her. “When I asked if you would marry me, did you say “Yes”, or did you say “No?”
“Why you silly man, I said ‘Yes. Yes I will.’ And I meant it with all my heart.”
The widower was delighted. He felt his heart skip a beat.
Then she continued. “And I am so glad you called because I couldn’t remember who asked me!”