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Anyone care? I mean really, really care like you used to? Sooner this abortion of a tournament is over the better. Can you imagine the waterboarding we're going to have to go through in four years time with 48 , I repeat 48, ******* teams, puffing and snotting their way through a month-long...

Dull. Blunt. We're trying to hack through privet with rubber shears. We're spearing pickled onions with a plasticine fork. Pointless. Change of tools required because the job won't change....

Dear Floydstreet Thank you for your comments. Unfortunately, at this moment in time, we couldn't give a flying **** what supporters think. We hope you enjoy the rest of the season. Regards Fosun

In a quiet, shady pasture, in a long forgotten corner of Jurassic Park, the Mickosaurus finally rests its big, fat, empty head...

I'd have to see more of your work before making a definitive judgement but I'd say that 'room reading' wouldn't rank highly in your current skills portfolio...

"Hey diddle-diddle, there's a fella in the middle And I think he's pulling my string My wife's lactating and I'm spectating It's a football thing. I live in a land of class hypocrisy We're going to win the national lottery E I Adio, I don't think so." England's Irie. Thread ends....

Like most of a 'certain age' I was collar-plucked from a late Summer Saturday morning, scarlet-kneed reinactment of the taking of the bridge at Remagen either side of next door's privet and told to 'get my coat'. Within the hour I had been scrubbed semi-raw from the waist up in a luke warm...

Another Ming vase smasher looking for the Loctite. Another throat slasher kissing it better with a styptic pencil....

The hypocritical bleating and hand-wringing on here from the anti-lucre late adopters is enough to make you gag. Don't remember you queuing to throw yourselves under the tracks when the corporate tanks came rolling into downtown Soccerville over two decades ago. Nor can I recall you taking up...

Why not go the whole nine yards, bake him a batch of salt cod fritters and stand underneath his bedroom window singing 'Ebony and Ivory'? One win in nine and we've just lost at home to the Albion and you want to organise a whip-round for the ******* manager. The absolute state of football...

Perhaps we could send him some flowers. I also believe he's partial to a Ferrero Rocher....

No. It may **** on your sepia/rose comfort blanket but he really was poor compared to those around him. Over the decades you've just soft focused out what you saw. We all do it. Either that or you know **** all about football. Happy to fall either side of the fence.

It did. I must have watched at least 75% of the games he played for our club and the truth is he really wasn't very good. Think Stephen Ward on Nitrazepam.

Long version or director's cut?

He spoke at a 'sportsman's evening' at the Bescot a fair few years back and after he'd finished I popped outside for a fag. He was standing on his own having a quiet pint and came over when he saw me spark up. He asked me rather apologetically if he could bum a couple of smokes off me ("don't...

Call me old fashioned but I prefer my club not to be in the blood stained hands of bonesaw murdering public executioners with a side-order flair for imaginative torture and female degradation. The ultimate clown car of a club and a perfect fit for the 'modern' game.

Nah. Not even close.

Enough with the squealing already....it's very unbecoming and you're starting to frighten the children. It's face-up time I'm afraid because whichever way you shake this down, your dabs are all over this butchery just the same as mine.... Think back. Way back. Remember when Uncle Rupert's...

Nobody likes the truth but there it is in front of you tonight..... It's gone. Football's dead. Nothing left for the true supporter other than to pick over the shady carcass and take a dignified stroll off stage. We had our day and what a day it was...