Today’s post is brought to you by the word *boilk* and it’s entirely the fault of the Blogfather who turned 70 yesterday.
‘A nice quiet Sunday lunch’, he said. And we did have a nice quiet Sunday lunch with family. Then we had a nice quiet 5 or 6 pints and when everyone left and we’d gotten him home safely me, Mrs Blogs and the Mug Smasher went back to have another quiet few pints and some quiet rums in a bar with the most humourless barman.
I tried to guess his name to attract his attention.
“Finbar. Roger. Eamonn. Trevor. Gary. Albert. Harry. Arnold. William. Giuseppe. Frank. Dermot. Seamus. Arthur. Hugh. Michael. Bob. Steven. Gilbert. Nigel. Charles. Ian. Daragh. Liam. Noberto. Phillip. Brian. James. Kevin. Aubrey. Oscar.” etc etc.
I didn’t manage to guess his name at all because he didn’t respond. Anyway, the next time we went to order a drink some barmaid with a face like a shoe said she wouldn’t serve me because I had upset a member of their staff. Christ, if trying to guess his name upset him imagine what he’d be like if you actually said anything bad to him. He’d have sat weeping the corner. Anyway, the Mug Smasher got us more booze and it was that last rum and coke which gave me the headache I have now.
As you can see there’s not much happening football wise. Arsene Wenger has called the international break and the time the players are away from their clubs ‘terrible’ and he’s right.
I’d be like a broken record, more so, if I went on about it but it’s a pain in the hoop that the minute we start building some momentum our players are hauled off to play for their countries for the best part of two weeks. The boss’s suggestion that they play the games Saturday and Tuesday is quite logical and at least gives a nod to the club who pay the players’ wages but then FIFA and UEFA are just a pack of cunts so the chances of anything changing are slim to say the least.
Our next game isn’t until October 14th. Absolute bollocks and it seems to me there are more and more internationals. I blame the fall of the Soviet Union. At least then there was only one team. Now you have so many Bollockstahns and Cuntovias they’re just clogging up the calendar.
Right, I need coffee. Till tomorrow when, because of the poxy internationals, I’ll have to make more stuff up.