It was a sad day for English football when Peter Shilton took Bobby Moore's record for the most number of England caps. But he WAS a goalkeeper and DID play into his late fifties and Ray Clemence WAS shit so I wasn't completely surprised.
But yesterday was an even sadder day as David Beckham equalled Bobby's record for an outfield player.
Bobby was a footballing god. The coolest, calmest footballer ever to put on an England shirt. He could read forwards' intentions so quickly he knew what they were going to do before they did.
Beckham is a one trick pony. He has a sweet right foot. He can cross a ball in open play and he is very good at set pieces. But he is no Brooking, Hoddle or Gascoigne. He doesn't take your breath away with his dribbling or quick thinking defence splitting passes. He is good at what he does but what he does is very limited.
He prostitutes himself in the media. He bores us senseless with his family pictures and his meat and two veg bulging in his girly white pants like gobstoppers in a greedy boy's cheeks. His tattoos and hairstyles have been laughable. His boots are like ballet pumps. In fact he wear a tutu on the pitch. He prances up and down the touchline, lifting his skirt when an opponent comes near him, pulling his girly pants up as high as he can. As he prepares to take a free kick or a penalty he lifts his skirt in front of the opposition's wall or goalkeeper, pulls his pants up over his manhood, lifts his penis and displays his clean shaven golden balls, freshly painted along with his finger and toenails in the changing room before the match. It is blatant gamesmanship, which namby pamby referees nowadays ignore as it is all part of the "modern" game.
Beckham is not fit to lace Bobby's boots.
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