They'll be crying on the streets of Skopje tonight...

Just a short one ahead of Schottland's game versus Macedonia this afternoon. The news that the blessed Faddy is in the starting line-up has given me a wee lift, as has the fact that the weather in Glesga is reassuringly piss-awful. Yup, dull, dour, dreich, and generally very Scottish, here's hoping it'll give the dark-blue warriors a wee bit more of a home advantage as we slalom our way to a glorious victory and are finally rampant on the road to Soot Effrikkka. I fucking wish. At least G. Caldwell isnae playing so we aren't already looking at clawing back from being an own goal down and could well finish with all eleven men on the park...

Anyhoo, I fancy it to be either 1-0 or 2-1 to the bravehearts, no gubbing on the horizon. Though, one way or t'other, I, personally, will be getting absolutely hammered...

Update : At the age of 33, Alexander of Macedonia cried salt tears because his team had just been reamed by the Scots. James McFadden is only 26...

Update II : At the age of *mumble mumble*, Mexy of Massivedongia cried salt tears because his team had just been pumped by the crazschy Dutsch. Uncle Mex is only 26 (okay, okay, give or take a feckin' decade, cheeky bastiches)...

(with due respect to the original from Lord Sidney of Waddell)

A whiff of burning ManUre...

After the sterling efforts of the two other old bastids in spewing out venom, venting spleen and moaning like a pair of old skool right-wing bawbags, I'm putting in advanced notice of an imminent upcoming shoeing of my own in here that will soon be administered by the big yin. I've got so many targets in my sights that I'm spoiled for choice. I've already got form for booting the erse of cyclopaths (literally), lung clearing ignoramuses and mentally defective cinema patrons so it'll have to be some other bunch of pricks that I'll have to kick off against...

In the meantime, in the wake of some absolutely appalling football results over the past week or so, I'm going to settle for giving a little clogging to the self-styled biggest football club in the world [blech!], Man fucking Yoooo. Okay, okay, I'll put my hand up right now and admit to some sympathies with the original red wearing team from that part of the world, (indeed, you might call them my wee struggling English yin to my hugely successful, globe straddling Scottish yang - or, it that wang???). That might discolour my perspective somewhat... but is there any fucker in the sports media with the cojones to point out any of the following simple, pertinent facts ??? As Rafa himself might put it :

FACT : They have sold two of their three best players (including arguably, the best player in the world, even though he is a cunt)...

FACT : They have replaced them with two random young French boys who we will never see again (wither David Bellion, anyone?), some anonymous bloke from Wigan and a turncoat little shit who is always injured and hasn't scored in the prem since January...

FACT : They took in eighty million quid and the above four mousekateers are all that they could fucking stump up for because they are in so much fucking debt... and yet it is Liverpool who are supposed to be under financial pressure at the start of the season ?

I'm sorry, you can fuck right off for starters after that lot. The bold Uncle Mex's prediction ? They are winning fuck all this year, take that to the bank. Do a double on the blessed Phil winning the World Championship yet again and earn yourself some spondooliks.

Made with the help of -

Crippled Black Phoenix "200 Tons of Bad Luck" - The first track on the album is called "Burnt Reynolds". Marvellous effort, I take my hat off, young sirs !

Våre gutter tok ettall helvete av en banking! *

So, anyone know how the second half went ? Did the blessed Fads come on and score a second half treble to put us on easy street ? I don't know the full story myself as I was busy cleaning up the remains of the dinner plate I threw at the wall when Pud's** toe bash free kick deflected off Broony and we went 1-0 down. Spent the rest of the evening watching "The Wire"... a wise, wise choice, I feel... :-(

Oh, well, at least we weren't the only useless tossers from these islands to get stuffed by the seal clubbers...

* "Our boys took one hell of a beating", in pidgin Norwegian. Elk hunting bastids.

** Okay, okay, some bloke named John Arne Riise, not Pud. Separated at birth if you ask me, tho'...