He likes Turkey so much, let him play for Fenerbace. His entire thought process is titw*ank, but it also shows us where he has been lacking. He has no fortitude and this shows up on the pitch of a Sunday.
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He likes Turkey so much, let him play for Fenerbace. His entire thought process is titw*ank, but it also shows us where he has been lacking. He has no fortitude and this shows up on the pitch of a Sunday.
He’s not really done himself any favours here, though, has he ? Ozil may have deliberated a tad over Erdogans track record before stampeding towards his default position of a photo opportunity. There are probably a significant number of Turks who are equally pissed off with him. Erdogans PR machine haven’t wasted the opportunity splashing the story and branding the Germans as fascists.
He may play for us but the boy’s quite clearly. a thick c*nt. :rolleyes:
All of which has **** all to do with football. When the top brass of every football association and Fifa have been fawning over the evil piece of **** that is Putin for the past month it means the square root of **** all and lest we forget this from the most famous German football of all time http://edition.cnn.com/2014/06/13/sp...all/index.html
Quite true but that sort of hypocrisy goes on all the time with govts and organisations. China’s human rights record hasn’t prevented the rest of the world sourcing virtually every consumable from the place while pouring billions into their pockets.
Ozil, however, doesn’t have the protection of an organisation that allows his actions to blend in. He stands alone. This is about him and he’s rather stupidly put his head on the block in front of his home Country.
It probably wouldn’t have been so bad had he been Portuguese but a Turk amongst Germans ?
Time will tell, I s’pose. Hoeness says he’s been sh*t since 2014, which was a bit harsh.
It’s all about how the Sultan of Unai see’s him fitting in.
The talents there but the apathy isn’t far away either.
It's funny you should say that, because when I think of the time we met, the memory is somehow ethereal, as if it were a dream... a bar in a Hilton hotel, full of shouting peons and warm bottles of lager... and you were with someone, a man who was there and, at the same time, wasn't there... perhaps it was a dream.