Reply With QuoteEveryone’s dying, h. �� Imagine a world without Cruijff, Diego Armando, Der Kaiser and Stanley. What happened to our youth? ��Originally Posted by Herbert Augustus Chapman
saw you play about 5 times and well recall how worried we were whenever you had the ball ( 50 years ago 😳 ). Odd to think that was a time when no team visiting Loftus Road expected to win, certainly we didn’t in the mid 70’s - we were ****e
Everyone’s dying, h. �� Imagine a world without Cruijff, Diego Armando, Der Kaiser and Stanley. What happened to our youth? ��
Amen to a' that.
"Plenty of strikers can score goals," he said, gesturing to the famous old stands casting shadows around us.
"But a lot have found it difficult wearing the number 9 shirt for The Arsenal."
is nigh when Mother Eternity lays her calming hand on your shoulder and whispers “Come, you have always been mine and now you must to return to me.”
I remember being stood in the North Bank watching a pulsating 3-2 win against them. Stan didn’t score that day but plenty of trickery on show.
He took a proper rinsing from the home support mind, a mark of respect for any visiting player possessing a flash of genius.. RIP
Is it wrong to admit that a part of me yearns for the blessed embrace of Mother Death? ��
Yearning is a powerful draw, C. I’d hope a chap in the autumn of his years might raise a glass or two a while longer. Better the hard abused and a’ that.
I can however envisage a time when the feeling of absolute disengagement from it all might make that final journey a little easier. That and the feeling of pathetic hopelessness, as one’s hoisted naked onto the shower stool daily by a huge, grinning Ghanaian nurse.
Dunno Sev - reckon a few blokes wouldn’t mind too much, especially if the big Ghanian was naked too ( and femaie ). I bet C’s got a bit of a chubby on.
Not ashamed to say the prospect terrifies me C. I have a cunning plan though. When she whispers her fateful summons, I’ll point to the sky behind her and give her the old “Look Mother, an archangel” routine and as she spins around to remonstrate with this other mischievous deity for trying to steal her scene, I shall bound away like a startled rabbit.
Surely Death is male? Is this political correctness gone mad?
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