Then he clanks around like a euphemism
May 20, 2013 § Leave a Comment
A friend recently pointed me toward the Bonsai Story Tree Generator, a widget for turning coherent text into nonsense, or near-nonsense. It’s quite fun. Anyway, said friend fed in a few of the profiles I’ve been writing for Football 365, and the machine spat out the following:
—–
It was enough to pronounce Toni Kroos’s surname.
The first, Mr Anthony Pulis, is a man of hidden and shiny shoes, makes jokes with that last sounds an English Yaya Toure!
Really!
He’s got round to say that he is given ample opportunity to keep him some good, but joyous, which I’m largely indifferent, just so when the time Such is Bramble’s tragicomedy.
He is not much to get moved out of the consistency to see the country. « Read the rest of this entry »
Through Gritted Teeth #32: England
July 28, 2011 § 1 Comment
by Shaughan McGuigan
Growing up in a football daft Scottish family in the early 1980s meant three important messages were imparted into my youthful and impressionable mind. Firstly, Kenny Dalglish was the best striker in Europe; secondly, Charlie Nicholas could be if he trained with the same degree of enthusiasm that he seemed to put into shopping for earrings; and lastly, when it came to international football, England were the bad guys.
It may have taken me quarter of a century but I’ve come to realise that only the first two lessons I received back then were actually accurate. England aren’t actually that bad. There. I’ve said it. Through teeth that are not just gritted but clamped shut, but I believe it nonetheless. « Read the rest of this entry »
Through Gritted Teeth #31: Rangers 1995
July 25, 2011 § 5 Comments
by Calum Mechie
Growing up in rural (there were cattle across the road) Aberdeenshire in the ‘90s it wasn’t very easy to learn about diversity. My parents did their best with trips to continental Europe and, a little later on, the Middle East, but diversity (something which makes/has made Britain a bit Great) was always something that happened elsewhere.
One of the places that it did happen was in Glasgow, specifically down Govan way and especially specifically at Ibrox. Walter Smith is a very Scottish man, his credentials in that area boosted further by spending much of his career working alongside a man called Archie, but in the mid-nineties he presided over the most gloriously cosmopolitan side in the history of Scottish Football. « Read the rest of this entry »
