Barclay's Premier League '14-'15 discussion V10

dostoevsky wrote:

El Shaarawy wrote:

Gerrard leading the pack

What am I watching?

Going to need some sort of explanation.

That leadership from Gerrard

Art Morte wrote:

El Shaarawy wrote:

Gerrard leading the pack

loooooooooooooool our best performance of the season

MaraVilla wrote:dono if this has been posted or not

El Cujo wrote:I also have a really hard time telling if it's them, but that guy on the left looks a lot like Skrtel, and Rickie Lambert looks like he's on the elevator too. Obviously the front man does look a lot like Gerrard also.

I can't stop laughing at the video though.

MaraVilla wrote:dono if this has been posted or not

RealGunner wrote:Depends what Allardyce thinks of his own career. If he just wants a footy job then Sunderland it is. But if he wants something better than fighting relegation battle, he might look somewhere else.

Not that he has many options.

Art Morte wrote:

El Shaarawy wrote:

Gerrard leading the pack

loooooooooooooool our best performance of the season

B-Mac wrote:

RealGunner wrote:Depends what Allardyce thinks of his own career. If he just wants a footy job then Sunderland it is. But if he wants something better than fighting relegation battle, he might look somewhere else.

Not that he has many options.

Newcastle

ffs pls

Great Leader Sprucenuce wrote:

B-Mac wrote:

RealGunner wrote:Depends what Allardyce thinks of his own career. If he just wants a footy job then Sunderland it is. But if he wants something better than fighting relegation battle, he might look somewhere else.

Not that he has many options.

Newcastle

ffs pls

*bleep* off

Don't call me James wrote:We are as midtable a team as you could possibly get

2009-10 | 7th | 63
2010-11 | 6th | 58
2011-12 | 8th | 52
2012-13 | 7th | 61
2013-14 | 2nd | 84
2014-15 | 6th | 62

Only a sugar daddy can save us.

The evening started to get lively. There was a tradition at Liverpool that new signings had to get up and sing a song in front of the rest of the squad. I’d done mine at the Christmas party at John Aldridge’s bar in Liverpool (I sang You’re Gorgeous to one of the reserve keepers who was a great lad but whose looks were, let’s say, rather rugged) and now it was the turn of a couple of others.
Javier Mascherano had only joined the club a couple of days earlier but he got up and sang some Spanish song. Then a few of the lads decided that John Arne Riise ought to sing, too.
Riise, who was known as Ginge, had ducked out of the Christmas do because he said he had a family commitment in Norway. But someone discovered he had never actually gone to Norway.
The lads set up this mock court where evidence was presented against him and, in the end, he admitted he hadn’t gone to Norway at all. He had to pay the bar bill for the Christmas do as a fine and he agreed he’d do some karaoke the next time we had a party.
That night at Vale do Lobo, I was sitting with Steve Finnan, who was my roommate, Sami Hyypia and Ginge. I told Ginge he had to sing a song. I might have said it a couple of times.

He said he didn’t want to do it. I mentioned it again and he snapped. He got s****y about it. He got up and started shouting.
‘Listen,’ he yelled, ‘I’m not singing and I’ve had enough of you banging on about it.’
Ginge left fairly soon afterwards. But as the evening wore on and I had more to drink, it started eating away at me. At that time, the way I was, I didn’t know how to control my emotions if someone disrespected me in front of the rest of the players. I wasn’t going to let it go, especially after a drink. I am one of the worst people on drink.
After a while, I told Steve Finnan we were going. I told him I wanted to sort it out with Ginge.
‘That ginger f****** p****, he ain’t speaking to me like that,’ I said.
Finny was trying to humour me, like a warder with a madman. We had a shared lounge with bedrooms that were upstairs. Our golf clubs were in the lounge. I’d got one out as I was stewing over what Ginge had done. It was an eight iron. I started taking a few practice swings.
‘Let’s go and see him now,’ I said. Finnan tried to stop me again but I was determined. I knew Ginge was sharing with Daniel Agger so I texted him to ask what room he was in. Daniel was still at the party but he texted me the room number. I marched off to find it. Finny came with me. He had given up trying to stop me by then.

I just wanted to wind Ginge up a bit. He had tried it on with me once or twice in training. We got round to the room and I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again and still no answer.
I texted Daniel again and made sure it was the right room. He said it was. So I tried the door and it was open. I let myself in and turned the light on. Ginge was in bed. He was facing away from me and covering his eyes with his hands because the lights had been switched on.
I just whacked him across the backside with the club. You couldn’t really call it a swing. It was just a thwack really. Ginge panicked. He curled up in a ball with a blanket.
‘You ever speak to me like that in front of people again,’ I told him, ‘I will wrap this round your head.’
‘Listen, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said.
‘Yes, you f****** did,’ I barked at him. ‘That’s a couple of times you’ve pulled that stunt on me and it won’t be happening any more.’
I look back at what I did now and I cringe. It was pathetic. It was stupidity of the highest level. It was drunken, bullying behaviour.
As Finny and I were going back to our room, the coach pulled up outside and all the players poured off it and piled into our lounge.
The room got wrecked basically. Sofas were turned upside down, lampshades got knocked off lamps, somebody even chucked a plate at one stage and it split someone’s head open.
The next thing I knew, Finnan was knocking on my door. ‘The Gaffer and Pako (Pako Ayestaran, Benitez’s assistant) are downstairs,’ he said. I went downstairs. Rafa and Pako were sitting on a sofa that they must have had to pull upright themselves.
Rafa, the most ordered, controlling man I knew, surrounded by utter chaos, by a scene that screamed out loss of control.
‘John Arne Riise has just come to my room to say you attacked him with a golf club,’ Rafa said.
‘I wouldn’t say I attacked him, exactly,’ I said. I gave him my version.
They weren’t quite as angry as I thought they would be. They told me I had been stupid, of course. I was already full of remorse.
I told them I would apologise. Rafa looked bemused. It turned out he had had quite a night himself.
He said he had been woken at 4am by a phone call telling him that Jerzy Dudek, who was our reserve keeper by then, was being held at a local police station. Rafa had to go and bail him out.

Great Leader Sprucenuce wrote:Has this been posted?