Would It Be Too Much To Ask To Play It On A Saturday?
The most embarrassing thing to come out of West Ham's Pardew era was not losing to a Neil Shipperley (for Christ's sake) goal in the play-off final. It was those fucking t-shirts.
I loved Bobby Moore. But those fucking t-shirts, "Moore Than Just A Football Club". What a half-arsed wanky piece of disrespectful advertising. Pardew looked a prick in his and so did anyone else who bought one.
So to tomorrow. We've had all week to remember the Busby Babes. We had our minute's silence before the England game. But tomorrow's the Manchester derby. Manchester united in remembrance. Will the City fans cry? Did the Everton fans cry when Liverpool remembered Hillsborough? Did Bradford Park Avenue fans cry on the anniversary of City's fire? Remember that horrific day?
In the week that the cunts in charge of our national game get erect penises over fucking even more with its history, we've all got to tune into Sky tomorrow, God's day of rest, to cry over something that happened before a lot of us were born. And the players are wearing a special 1950s kit with, get this, no advertising! What a mark of respect! Long, baggy shorts, v-necked shirts, big, clunky boots smeared with dubbin, a ball as hard as a coconut, half-time cigarettes and cups of tea in a steaming dressing room.
It's the no advertising on the shirts that really brings a tear to my eye, though. I hope they'll be on sale afterwards. I want to look like Gary Neville.