July 21, 2011 § 5 Comments
by Mark Critchley
Oh hairy Icarus! Fly not too close to Molineux’s golden midday blaze lest thy bristled appendages and waxy coiffure droop, and a firestorm thus rage. January was the cruellest month, with its fall from Super Sundays — a heap of broken images. Here you and Andy sit, like a three-legged pony and rusty fridge in this divot-ridden field of broadcasting pretence — brought to you by The Big Red Building on Golders Green Road. What the fuck is The Big Red Building on Golders Green Road? Hush dear boys, for it matters not. You’re with Talksport now. The country for old men. Where blokes go to die.
Or perhaps, to live … « Read the rest of this entry »