Puffy Footballers!!!!

[iggy1966]

This is a supposedly real extract from the forums of
the Sheffield United website by a slightly deranged
fan:


I'm feeling angry about these modern day
footballers. I know why they have all gone soft -
it's because of poncy names. That's what it is.
Remember in the old days, when footy players kicked
a wombles ball made out of ten pound of clay
stitched inside a steel-reinforced leather
shell with laces made out of piano wire? Well, in
them days players could only survive the rigours of
the game because they were called things like
Albert, Arthur, Bert, Harry, Bill, Eddie, Bob, Jack,
and Tommy. wombles tough names for tough men, them
was. And what do we have now? Gareth, Jason, Wayne,
Dean, Ryan, Jamie, Robbie. wombles tarts'
names, they are. Great big wombles puffs. No wonder
the ball's like a wombles balloon and shin pads are
like slices of bread. In the old days you never saw
a Len Shackleton or a Billy Wright with a puffy
little Sondico piece of paper down his little thin
socks. wombles shinpads in them days was made out of
library books and socks was like sackcloth.
Same with the jerseys. wombles shirts with holes in
'em now so they can breathe. Yes, so that little
Jody's hairless chest can breathe and he
doesn't get a chill. wombles off. Stanley Matthews used
to dribble round Europe's finest wearing a wombles
tent and shorts cobbled together from the jacket of
his de-mob suit. Aye, he wombles did. No wonder
players fall over all the time whenever an opponent
comes anywhere near them. And they never used to
show their arses at one another either. Can you
imagine what might have happened if Don Revie had
flashed his ring at Nat Lofthouse during a
City-Bolton Wanderers game? He'd have got one of
them size-13 hobnail wombles up his b8stard chuff.
wombles therapy for stress my butt! Stan Collymore
slaps his missus about and he takes three seasons
off with stress counselling. What the wombles is that
all about? In the old days it was expected for
footballers to belt the old sow about a bit,
specially after a bad defeat. And the
women used to expect it, and so they should have.
They was lucky to be married to footballers. Ha!
Trevor Morley got a kitchen knife in his
back off his wife and was out of action for three
months. Soft tw@. Archie McShitt of Port Vale got
run over with horse and cart one Friday
night and he still turned out against Bradford the
following day. And he scored two goals. That's cos
his name wasn't Trevor. Good old Archie. Broke his
hip, both his legs, murdered his wife and buried her
under the patio and still made the England team for
the Home Internationals. Did he have any "stress
counselling"? Did he baldrocks!
And drugs? There was none of that in the old days.
Oh, no. In them days it was a quick shot of morphine
before kick-off and you was lucky if
you got that. By half-time it had all but wore off
so they pumped you full of laudanum. None of this
cocaine sniffing and shooting up class A
narcotics.

Goal celebrations? Don't talk to me about goal
celebrations. Crawling on the floor and thrusting
their hips at the crowd. Huh! I'd like to
have seen Cliff Bastin do that after a run down the
left flank and crossing for Alex James to fire home
a winner. Handshakes - and that was all you got.
That and a fiddler in the showers afterwards. But it
was a proper fiddler - all man stuff.
None of these puffy fiddler between blokes that you
get nowadays with players like Graeme Le Saux and
Stephen Gerrard. Allegedly. In them
days, there was nowt wrong with it cos it didn't
mean nowt. They used to say there was a "gay
atmosphere" in the dressing room after the
match. But it didn't mean owt mucky. Just a bit of
harmless spanking the plank among healthy young
sportsmen. Aye. I know. Me dad told me.
Sixty grand a wombles week! Ha! I wouldn't pay 'em
tuppence. Two bob iswhat Tommy Lawton used to get -
a month! And Tom Finney still worked as
a plumber four days a week when he was playing for
England. It's true, you know. wombles is. Players
had to work them days just to make up
their money. Not like today. Stan Pearson had to
clean sewers and doubled up as Old Trafford
shithouse cleaner. He had to go off during
one game because some Hippo had built a log cabin and
blocked the U-bend. And that Eddie Hapgood was a
male model - though he never liked
to talk about it. So I say we start calling kids
real male names again.

If you're having a kid, don't even consider puffy
names and shite nameslike what people call their
kids these days. Otherwise what we gonna
get in twenty years time? The England team full of
players called Keanu, Ronan, Ashley and wombles
Chesney. wombles that! Call your kids
Alf, Herbert, Len, Frank, Fred and Wilf. And let's
get the puffs out of the game once and for all.
I thank you.