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In
association with our partners, Kitbag.com |
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It's
been a tremendously exciting week.
The whole thing kicked off in spectacular
fashion with a fabulous demolition of our
old rivals, the Gooners. They were terrible.
And it was great to see [sorry
armchairgooner!].
From Dwight Yorke's spectacular thigh-in in
the 3rd minute, I just knew it was going to
be United's day. Although Arsenal scared me
to death with the ease they cut through
United's defence on the left side of the
field - Silvestre is indeed an unlikely
mixture of donkey and thoroughbred. But
normal service was resumed soon after with
the Gilles Grimandi/Igor Stepanovs combo at
the back gifting Yorkie a 2nd and 3rd - a
hat-trick to brighten his dull season. Keano
and Ollie stuck their chances away nicely
and I happily toddled in to my kitchen to
make the half-time tea with the score at an
unbelievable 5-1!
Second half was a non-event, with United
simply jogging about laughing at the Gooners'
hapless attempts to play football. Ljungberg
nearly did his usual trick of scoring
against United, but you knew it was
definitely the Reds' day when his decent lob
sailed wide of the post. Teddy came on and
scored the 6th, nicking the ball from Ollie
in the process, but no one
cared..........6-1 and 16 points clear.
Lads, the premiership is over - it's just
how much we win it by now. Bring on Leeds!
Something else tremendous happened this
week, which has made me feel like it's high
time I started buying lottery tickets again.
In Mulligans of Poolbeg Street on Thursday
night, I met the great man himself, George
Hamilton. He is a top class gent. Not only
did he buy a round of drinks (an easy way to
ingratiate me), but he was eager and willing
to repeat my favourite phrases from his
commentary through the years. The highlight
of my evening was when he got into
commentator mode and re-created the great
Lillian Laslandes sending off rebuke,
"you, sir, are an idiot!" George,
you are the real King!
Tying in neatly with the first half of my
exciting week, George informed me that he is
a Gooner and that he was at Old Trafford for
the 6-1 mauling on Sunday. He looked sick as
a parrot as he recounted tales from the day.
I, on the other hand, was over the moon.
George is the consummate professional, and I
have very much respect for him - who else
could utter the immortal words "...the
midfield are like a chef...........trying to
prise open a stubborn oyster to get at the
fleshy meat inside."
Unfortunately when I reminded George of this
feat of wordmanship he could not remember
having uttered it. It was the effect of the
gargle, I'd say... Needless to say, the
staff here at DangerHere Towers were excited
to hear that I'd met the great man. I have
recounted the evening's tale over and over.
We are a happy bunch!
Introducing
The King |
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