It starts

So why am I here? It appears the only safe place you can actually say what you want without fear of upsetting some P.C arsehole is to get your own blog these days. Forums moderated by what appear 14 year olds, whose administrators get chummy with a few of the regulars and let them say what they want, and if you dare fucking challenge then that’s it perma-ban. Piss me off the blurts.

Anyway, how did it all start? Well after attending all the games last season at Anfield. After another prestige final in Athens – we have more tourists wanting to bask in the famous old atmosphere which they do not contribute to. I have a ticket for the game at Chelsea now, but it sickens me to see the amount of daytrippers, tourists and wools all asking on sites the same stupid questions.

How do I know if I’ve been successfull with a postal?
What time do the the credit card lines open?
Is MW any good?
I’m on row 34 – is the view okay?
Am I allowed to wear a jester hat?
What pub should I go to before the game?

Disgusts me. Add to the equation things like:

It’s my first game tomorrow, my mate got me tickets (against Category A opposition, for the FIRST home game of the season mind) ;

And is it any reason why people get so worked up about the stupid ticketing and bandwagon, gloryhunting beauts? And yet, it’s taboo to mention any of this or ask questions like where the fuck where they during the bad times, and then I get an insta-ban from the site for responding to these quegs trying to bait me – fair?? This was deleted as well:

I’ll make my way, as always before
to Anfield on Sunday for kickoff at four
Cos fuck you all, I got a ticket
Spare a thought for the wool, How did he know I’d nick it?

Standing aloof, I’ll look through the stands
At the millions of tourists with scarves in their hands
Leaning back and exerting their voice
Hallelujah, It’s Fowler – let’s fucking rejoice!!!

Hang on – It never used to be like this
When the rivers ran yellow, and the Kop stank of piss
We embraced and as one we swayed
Look at the fuckers the media has made

the fans of the internet and 3 minute clips
gobbling your rollovers complete wit chips
Too pissed up to take in the game
shaking my head, it just isn’t the same

I look at Tarquin, the 3 year fan
out for a daytrip with grandad and nan
And I think of the tickets, taken from guys
who watched through the lows and not just the highs

And then I hear wools bleating into the air
About 300 miles and no money to spare
About what the club would be without their support
About the type of fan they are, or rather the being they purport

Leaving the ground 10 minutes before the ending
to carry on where you left off, and finish your bending
because I was right – it was never about the game
You came out to pose – your mates did the same.

As I start to make my own way home
In front of Mackenzie and a beaut called Jerome
I think of my mates, and how they stay away
Because it’s different now – yea know match day

Point proven this morning with Derby anyway, much easier to get tickets as it’s not glamourous opponents and the wools can’t be arsed coming to Anfield, so they can lay down their fucking comedy red perm wigs and not badger the locals to take pictures of their arms outstretched on the kop with scarf.

The ones who announce you’re sitting in their seat, when it’s blatantly obvious the empty seat in front of you is theirs, and they can’t fucking count rows. Then they climb over you scoffing their rollovers and guzzling their chips, sit themselves down and pull out the latest Nokia and watch the match through a fucking 1 inch viewfinder.

Pretty angry right now, woe betide any St. Helens twat who drives like a blurt on the way home, he’ll be eating my cigarette lighter the bastard.

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