I posted this elsewhere, I hope the management don't mind me re-posting here. I typed it out when slightly under the influence (in vino veritas) so I hope it strikes a chord with you guys as well.
Chelsea started spending money they hadn't earned in the Bates and Harding era. Run by ****s who had ambitions well above the capability of the club, its achievements or any historical precedent. They spent money they didn't have, they spent money they hadn't earned on a brick or bust mission, in the wild eyed hope that if they succeeded, they would claw it back. By some obscene twist of fortune and chance, these brickhouse bastards managed to hang some kind of voodoo sign over our club.
They achieved a string of results that they did little to deserve, and eventually got them by building a team they hadn't paid for.
I'm an atheist, I don't believe in a GHod, or divinity but when it all finally tumbled to the ground, and CFC faced extinction, and lets not kid ourselves - we are talking being wound up, with debts no-one could realise, and no future beyond that of bulldozers and total annihilation, I thought about going to church.
Then the fudging Russian showed up, and transformed my nightmare - into flesh. Not only did fate brick on us, but it rubbed salt in the wounds we did nothing to deserve, as we sat and watched the self satisfied looks on the chelski acolytes and sycophants - and the systematic destruction of the top flight of English football, through obscene salaries and ludicrous transfer fees. Over the years, we have seen a steady multiplication of chelski followers, whining for more, hands held out like beggars, waiting for more and more tidbits to be thrown to them, winning titles and cups that they did shag all to earn, beyond that of building a team with money spunked on them, like the kittens the club became.
Then came last season. I know its only football, its just a sport.
It really isn't life - or death, despite Shankley's protestations to the contrary.
But really - I hope we fudge them over royally on Wednesday. Not just because I want us to move on and up. Not even because they are supported by gloating half breed mongs, who neither care that they are the spawn of kittens, nor are embarrassed by it.
But because at some point in time - justice dictates that they deserve (figuratively) to be fudged in the arse, by a **** the size of that owned by a grand national winner.
To be perfectly honest. I'd like them to lose 1-0, to an own goal by John Terry that didn't cross the line, but was given anyway. (and then have him sent off for ....anything)
COYS
