Let's all laugh at City
Posted: Wed Oct 20, 2010 8:09 amThat's the title I put on the e-mail I just composed and have sent to a shed-load of devilworshippers in our office and I look forward to the replies. This is what I wrote:-
I got home from work. Pulled out a nice cold Peroni from the fridge and made myself comfortable in front of my PC.
As I lazily meandered ont tinternet, I stumbled across a link to Taggart's press interviews. I clicked the play button and took my first sip of beer. I smiled wryly as I noticed that Taggart's conk appeared much more purple than it usually is. His demeanour was very different to his usual pompous, languid body language. He looked tired, brow-beaten and actually a little like a child that had been scolded by his mother and sent to his bedroom without any supper.
He began to speak and it was very noticeable that he was struggling to assemble his words correctly. I leaned back in my chair and chuckled for a few seconds. I turned the volume up a couple of notches because I could sense that this interview was going to be funny. Taggart tried to get into full flow but his words were all out of sync and he was clearly struggling. He said something about letting Wayne "play AGAINST England" and this caused me to put my bottle down onto the table. I kid you not, I started a raucous belly laugh that ripped its way up my body. As this laugh began to take over me, I made a concerted effort to try to stop it because I wanted to hear more of what Taggart was saying. He was trying to explain himself and this was a concept that he was clearly uncomfortable with. My laughing was now becoming quite uncontrolable and tears were welling up in my mince pies. Thoughts of devilworshippers taunting fans with "Once a blue, always a red" flashed through my mind and the word Karma immediately began to resonate. The laugh was now beginning to feel a little sore on my rib cage but I was finding it very difficult to control and I genuinely couldn't stop it. I made a concerted effort to focus and calmed myself with a decent slug from the Peroni bottle. The cold liquid soothed my chest a little as I wiped my tears and focused my mincers and listeners again onto the screen. I actually felt a light tinge of sympathy for Taggart because it was abvious that he was trying to talk himself out of a tight corner and he was flailing with his words. As I concentrated on his boat race, he began to look very much the old man that is nearing his seventieth birthday and it was a little sad to witness. Then another flash came into my mind. It was the voices of devilworshippers from the past, goading other clubs' supporters with "You're just a selling club and we're the biggest club in the world" Karma I thought. At this point, I was taking another slug from the Peroni bottle and unfortunately it was the wrong time. I spat a gobfull of my nectar over my keyboard and some spurted onto the screen, making the image of Taggart look even more bizarre than before. I inhaled deeply and began to laugh out more loudly. I was guffawing, chortling and nearly wetting my undies. The windows in my living room were wide open and I was aware that a lot of people in my block of flats would be hearing my hysterical laugh but I was unable to get out of my chair to walk across and close the windows. I was becoming weak and quite out of breath but I couldn't stop. Then yet another stream of words came into my mind. It was the devilworshippers again and this time I was remembering them patronisingly spewing out the words "You are our feeder club. You are our feeder club" Karma I thought. I was now in a sorry looking mess. There was beer all over the place, I was doubled over in my chair, struggling not fall onto my knees and my poor little belly was breathless and sore. I coudn't take much more of this. I hadn't laughed as much since Denis Law's back heel in 1974 but as I steered my vision back to the screen, there was Taggart looking lost and utterly beaten and deflated.I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed............................................................
Karma. It's a strange wierd thing isn't it.
I got home from work. Pulled out a nice cold Peroni from the fridge and made myself comfortable in front of my PC.
As I lazily meandered ont tinternet, I stumbled across a link to Taggart's press interviews. I clicked the play button and took my first sip of beer. I smiled wryly as I noticed that Taggart's conk appeared much more purple than it usually is. His demeanour was very different to his usual pompous, languid body language. He looked tired, brow-beaten and actually a little like a child that had been scolded by his mother and sent to his bedroom without any supper.
He began to speak and it was very noticeable that he was struggling to assemble his words correctly. I leaned back in my chair and chuckled for a few seconds. I turned the volume up a couple of notches because I could sense that this interview was going to be funny. Taggart tried to get into full flow but his words were all out of sync and he was clearly struggling. He said something about letting Wayne "play AGAINST England" and this caused me to put my bottle down onto the table. I kid you not, I started a raucous belly laugh that ripped its way up my body. As this laugh began to take over me, I made a concerted effort to try to stop it because I wanted to hear more of what Taggart was saying. He was trying to explain himself and this was a concept that he was clearly uncomfortable with. My laughing was now becoming quite uncontrolable and tears were welling up in my mince pies. Thoughts of devilworshippers taunting fans with "Once a blue, always a red" flashed through my mind and the word Karma immediately began to resonate. The laugh was now beginning to feel a little sore on my rib cage but I was finding it very difficult to control and I genuinely couldn't stop it. I made a concerted effort to focus and calmed myself with a decent slug from the Peroni bottle. The cold liquid soothed my chest a little as I wiped my tears and focused my mincers and listeners again onto the screen. I actually felt a light tinge of sympathy for Taggart because it was abvious that he was trying to talk himself out of a tight corner and he was flailing with his words. As I concentrated on his boat race, he began to look very much the old man that is nearing his seventieth birthday and it was a little sad to witness. Then another flash came into my mind. It was the voices of devilworshippers from the past, goading other clubs' supporters with "You're just a selling club and we're the biggest club in the world" Karma I thought. At this point, I was taking another slug from the Peroni bottle and unfortunately it was the wrong time. I spat a gobfull of my nectar over my keyboard and some spurted onto the screen, making the image of Taggart look even more bizarre than before. I inhaled deeply and began to laugh out more loudly. I was guffawing, chortling and nearly wetting my undies. The windows in my living room were wide open and I was aware that a lot of people in my block of flats would be hearing my hysterical laugh but I was unable to get out of my chair to walk across and close the windows. I was becoming weak and quite out of breath but I couldn't stop. Then yet another stream of words came into my mind. It was the devilworshippers again and this time I was remembering them patronisingly spewing out the words "You are our feeder club. You are our feeder club" Karma I thought. I was now in a sorry looking mess. There was beer all over the place, I was doubled over in my chair, struggling not fall onto my knees and my poor little belly was breathless and sore. I coudn't take much more of this. I hadn't laughed as much since Denis Law's back heel in 1974 but as I steered my vision back to the screen, there was Taggart looking lost and utterly beaten and deflated.I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed............................................................
Karma. It's a strange wierd thing isn't it.
