Posts Tagged ‘Brutal Honesty’

By Felipe Hassin Pinto a.k.a The man from the Grove

Maddy’s Note: A highly indignant albeit slightly inebriated Felipe is back. This is not his run of the mill review you might have noticed. His posts usually span 1500 words and you almost relive the entire game with them. However, this one is short sweet and vitriolic. This goes out to all you dimwit critics out there who have as much brains as Graham Poll’s left butt cheek. I for once shall follow with a more comprehensive review.

I cannot believe some people have the balls to say we did not play well and that we did not deserve to win. (more…)

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It happens in the game, people slip

– Carlton Palmer. Actual quote in the halftime show.

Beckham… into Sheringham… and Solskjær has won it!

– Clive Tyldesley. That unforgettable night

Football is called Jogo Bonito because of its very split-second game-changing characteristics. Most other games have a degree of predictability, or a slightly lesser significance attached to individual/single moments of brilliance. In football, done at the right time, such moments can end  a game. This image, etched in every Manc’s memory and echoing in his head every time the video is played, is a brilliant example of such a game-ending moment. It’s like the crescendo in the 1812 Overture. It takes nothing away from the brilliance of the game, but it’s only at the crescendo that the spine truly tingles. Here come the cannons… (more…)

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The reason behind United-Liverpool early kick-off fixtures is not just plainly to impose an alcohol-free event, rather it always comes with the heavy post match indulgence. Which is why I am currently going through one of the longest hangovers of my life.

As we all know, the match bore a heavy consequence in the title-race and the top four battle and it was only a matter of who wanted it more. (more…)

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Before the game, there was a funeral atmosphere around Stamford bridge. The script involved Chelsea going all Indiana-Jones on Mourinho’s Inter Milan and ending it in true bad-ass style with three goals and a clean sheet. Unfortunately, the game panned out more like a Japanese horror movie than a good-always-beats-evil Harrison Ford starrer, where, in a completely uncalled for plot twist, the villain, who the hero is about to stuff into a meat grinder, comes back to life, shoots the hero twice in the head and then proceeds to dance over his dead body.

And if Chelsea’s Champions League hopes  being put to rest in front of 40,000 Chelsea faithful was not enough, Mourinho then proceeded to render a heart rending eulogy which, surprisingly, was not in English, Portuguese or the more recently acquired Italian. Mourinho’s men did their talking on the field, and his message was extremely clear, “Stamford Bridge. Still my bitch.

The only coherent thoughts in my head after the game were these.

Mourinho is clearly gay.

The Chelsea Fan in me.

I guess I’m a little gay for Mourinho.

The Football Fan in me.

Where did it all go wrong?

When I reflect, I can honestly say that last night, Anelka was good. Defensively, so was Zhirkov. But therein lies the problem. (more…)

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Honestly, the worst thing about losing a match at such a vital part of the season is to move on and do a damn write-up about it. And having endured the travails numerous times before never makes it easier, but at times like these role-playing as a critic warrants my presence. To say Liverpool played badly is an understatement. No excuse today. We had the main men we always needed. And yet to blow it off even as push comes to shove is an utter disappointment.

To start with I never expected Wigan Athletic, a team battling for relegation, to be a potential banana skin in our run in. (more…)

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It’s been a week almost since Ramsey was stretchered off with 2 shattered bones in his playing leg. All of us have had plenty of time to get our emotions to ground state again and we’re certainly much more level headed than immediately after the game when we were unanimously calling for Shawcross’ head. Has anything from my initial reaction changed? Do I perhaps feel slightly more ambivalent towards Shawcross? Hardly.

I was doing a bit of introspection and once you stand back and survey the big picture, you are liable to end up with a raised eyebrow or two.

That Horror Tackle


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If u r a rglr readr n u read mah post yday, u wud remembr I made a ref to Cshley n Cheryl as da worst couple in da wrld. Well, I ws wrng. They arnt a couple nymore. Cheryl dmped Cshley aftr she fnd a set f fotos of him butt nakd in his Sent Folder.

Despite Cashley’s protestations of innocence claiming those vomit inducing photos weren’t for Vanessa Perroncel, her fickle excuse of a mind is apparently made up; which means they are no longer the worst couple in the world. That honor now goes to Fat Frank and John Terry. (more…)

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