JMF Hang On

The walking wounded of the Gaylord JMF held out just long enough to prevail by two, and cut the seasons deficit to two games. Myself and Shouty were away with the fairies after the previous nights exploits, and I myself proved tetchy beyond belief when the shirt lifters kicked in with their usual gay whining about everything that didn't go their way. It is getting rather tedious. But credit where it is due. With King Dave and Dead Eye both pulling up lame, and the Euro E piling on the pressure, they held out, Dead Eye pulling of several outstanding saves, and man of the match Luklear defending brilliantly. C'est la vie. There will be no whiskey filled antics to save them next week.

Line-ups;

JMF- Jamon, King Dave, Funky, Luklear War and Dead Eye

EURO E- JohnnyMedia, Shouty, Clogs, Euro Bri and Young Gaz

2008 Season

• JMF wins -3



• Euro Elite - 5



• Draws - 0

Tuesday Night Tomfoolery

What do you get if you cross myself, the Boy Dazzler, El Grande Queso, the Shoutster and several post match pints? Buffoonery, that's what. After watching the Bantams dispose of Rotherham, we strolled into town to sink a few post match pints at the City Vaults. The good ideas at the time syndrome started almost immediately, when to warm us up after our chilly walk, we chased down the first pints with a test tube of Jagermeister. Half a gallon of lager later, Stevie mentioned the Casino for a night cap, and we all agreed, as long as no one bought any Tequila. Alas, on arrival at the Gala casino, Dazzler noticed Bullet bourbon, and things began to get slightly messy. Several whiskey late, including a Johnny Walker Gold, £6.90 a pop, we hit the tables. El Queso had no luck on the roulette, but I was making decent headway at Black jack when disaster struck for the Boy. Sat watching the games unfold, some fuckwit jumped from his seat, and knocked the Boys drink flying. He then sat there, no apology, gormless look on face, and then unbelievably, refused point blank to go and buy another one. Well in my books this is one of the biggest sins a fella can commit, and I gave him a piece of my mind big time. As he sat there, cowering under the torrent of obscenity filled abuse I heaped upon his worthless carcass, his bint decided to chime in with her two pence worth. Unlucky for her, I had held back some of my choicest swear words, and decided to giver this stupid old slapper the benefit of my expansive catalogue of swear words that relate to the milder sex. The clumsy fuckwit who had caused all the commotion in the first place, took this opportunity to leg it, and his stupid cum bucket bitch, decided to complain to the management. But Stevie was losing to much brass for us to be shown the door, so she went off in a huff, as I calmed down to carry on with the cards. The next major talking point, at around half one I think was the earthquake. I must admit, I felt nowt, I thought Dazzlers swaying was down to the bourbon. Everything went along fairly smoothly till, about four, when Dazzlers drunkenness proved to much for the staff. He wasn't causing any harm as such, but he was getting louder and not playing any of the tables, so he was shown the door. I went to round up the troops to go with him, but by the time we made the entrance, he was gone, on his way home in a cab. Stevie wouldn't hear of going home, and announced we were to go back in to take the house down. Inside we met a geezer called Kevin, and bolstered with yet more whiskey, we went for the kill. Stevie finally admitted defeat at around five thirty, and we left for good, properly pissed by now. I have no idea how much Shouty and Steve won or lost, but the fact neither had a shirt on their back, didn't bode well. I broke a personal duck though, and managed to leave £50 up, a first on these shores. The next problem to surmount though was one we hadn't planned on. At 5:45 Wednesday a.m. in Bradford city centre, there ain't much call for taxi's, so we were stood around freezing our knackers off wondering how to get home. At this point Stevie and Shouty thought spit roasting a statue would be the answer(see right). I on the other hand, and with a moment of lucidity realising work was a mere two hours hence, decided to ring Girlington cabs, which proved more fruitful than humping an inanimate object. The next morning I awoke at 10:30 a.m., a massive two and a half hours late for work, stinking of booze. Dazzler somehow made to Leeds, as did Shouty. The problem for the Right Honourable was the small matter that he works in Bradford. Numb nuts had got on the wrong train. Queso, who professes to be a captain of industry, didn't have no gaffer to answer to, so stayed in bed. He did however awaken to find himself covered in stickers with the words "You are a wanker" written on them. He had rung his missus on the way home, saying he was late because of the earthquake, and when told to stop talking nonsense, told the truth as he stood there a pleased as punch. He isn't allowed out with me now for three months. And what of the Elsters reaction? I opened the door to try and sneak upstairs, only to be felled by the sleeping dog, which made a right racket. She was not impressed in the slightest, and when I pointed out to her that she liked it when Tony Soprano does it, I was informed in no certain terms that I was NOT the fictional New Jersey mob boss. Safe to say for me and the Shoutster, it wasn't the most fun filled of days, but everything comes at a price, and it was worth it. As a footnote, on my way to football later that day, I drove past the Boy Dazzler out on the lash again. Legend.

Bantams 3 Millers 2

I know the game was a couple of nights ago, see the buffoon report above as to why it's late, and the boys in claret and amber were well worth their win. The first half saw all of City's goals, and they played the best footie I have seen down the Valley this season. Omar scored a fine opener, showing a clean pair of heels to the defence, before cutting inside to bury it in the bottom corner. Within two minutes, Colbeck crossed low and Rhodes pounced to make it 2-0. The Millers nearly pulled one back straight away, hitting the post, and halved the deficit not much after. With half time approaching, I took off to get the beers in and missed our third, scored by Bullock. I reckon I have missed as many as I have seen lately. The second half was good value entertainment, and Peter Thorne missed possibly the biggest sitter that I have ever witnessed. From where we sit, it looked like he scooped over off the goal line. To rub it in Rotherham scored not long after, to make it the usual clenched arse finish that we are becoming used to down the Parade. There was good news prior to the match as well, concerning the next season ticket. They are being put up at £150, with a free on for under 11's, and if there are more than 9,000 adult takers, we will receive an extra full season ticket for free. This could feasibly result in crowds of 20,000 plus next year. Happy days indeed.

Baz Watch;
Our smooth headed bundle of pure testosterone was not called on till the last minute. He made one forward burst, and that was pretty much that. Thorne and Daley looked good up front, and Willy was the first preference when McCall made his substitution. I fear his playing time may be getting harder to come by.




Pie Rating; Sausage Roll 5/10
We have another guest reviewer this week. I know I promised a second opinion on the Chicken Balti, but there is good reason why I didn't. The first bite I took revealed a filling of molten lava, which burnt my tongue, and caused me to lurch unexpectedly forward, desperately trying to extinguish the atomic reaction taking place in my mouth. This caused a lump of chicken to spill forth from my booby trapped savoury and splatter on the floor. Little did I realise at that moment, that this piece of poultry, now decorating the concourse floor, would render my Chicken Balti pie, a mere Balti pie, because the rest of it carried no trace of any meat. So it was left to the Grande Queso to give his verdict on the sausage roll. You can tell Mr Queso hadn't been to watch many games this season, as he gave me £1.50 to buy it for him as I was at the front of the queue. Or was it a cunning plan? Anyway, it was fairly long, and started out as a 7/10, but the blandness caused this score to fall to 3/10 by the time it was finished, to garnish a final an average rating of 5/10. Next time Shouty will rate the Bovril.

Last Gasper Sinks TSV

The dream is over. Bayerns Franck Riberry slotted a no doubt dubious penalty in the last minute of extra time, to down the brave boys in blue. Wankers. With them currently lying in seventh in the league, the season hangs in the balance. There is also no news on the Monchengladbach times and date. But it is not all bad news. Inspired by young Crespo, I too scoured ebay in search of Der Lowen attire. They still had his super groovy Nike away shirt, in XL, but I fancied something different. Then I saw it. But with it being Friday night I was pissed, and after trying to navigate the payment section on ebay for about an hour, I gave up. After sobering up the next day, and being of soundish mind, I tried again and was successful. It arrived today, and can be seen below:



Aren't I the bobby dazzler? It is a Toffs retro shirt from the 1960's, it cost £12.99, and for your information Crespo, it is sized as medium. So there.

I Miss....

City are at home tomorrow night, so a day earlier than usual, this weeks I Miss strand. Seeing as I have football on the mind, this week I am focusing on what I miss about footie. Yes the Premier League has brought glamour and money to the English top flight, but lets face it, unless you are a die hard glory hunter, it is getting pretty dull. Apart from a single Rovers victory, the trophy has been won by just three team, and apart from Liverpool, and perhaps Spurs, it doesn't look likely there will be another team to reach the pinnacle. Gone are the days when a maverick like Cloughie could drag a team up one season and win it all the next. Believe it or not, it ain't that long since the likes of Leeds United, Everton, Villa and even Derby County could claim to be champions of England. Now the closest competition seems to be if Liverpool can blow fourth place, and even that doesn't happen too often. And whats fourth place all about anyway? What a great achievement, something to really strive for, fourth place. No wonder this country sucks at sports. Then we have the players. Poncy, soft drinking prima donnas, who collapse as if shot at the slightest touch. Yes Ronaldo is a fantastic player, but I would have loved to have seen him try his multiple step overs against the Leeds United team of the early seventies. He'd be fetching his left leg from the pie stand at the back of the Kop. Then there is the head to head malarkey, both players trying to be hard, usually followed by a slap, and one of them writhing on the floor as if punched by Tyson in his prime. For you young fellas who don't know better, this is how they used to do it. Of course today, the papers would claim it was the end of civilisation, and the police would get involved, resulting in the players involved being sent for anger management classes. When the little flowers manage to stay on their feet long enough to score, we are then subjected to either fatuous kissing of the badge by a player on his 42nd team, or even worse, some cheesy choreographed set piece celebration, probably thought up whilst spit roasting some slapper in a posh hotel. Yet again, for those born in the eighties or after, an example of how it was done when it meant something to score and play for your country. Click here, for Marco Tardelli's 1982 World Cup final goal. Brilliant. Moving on to the clubs themselves, or should I say business's, that treat fans like consumers, and attempt to rinse out every sovereign they can. Bad enough that the majority now play in out of town retail parks, in soulless bunkers bereft of atmosphere, they then employ over eager stewards, all to ready to throw their weight around at slightest whiff of spontaneity, supporters are expected to cough up silly money for ever changing strips. The golden goose hasn't been killed yet, but at this rate who will care about football? Watch any game outside the bigger clubs, and you will see half empty stadiums, and kids walking around towns like Bradford wearing Chelsea shirts, instead of following the local teams. Sitting in front of the telly cheering on a team you will never see in the flesh, to me, defeats the object totally. We are bombarded by the winning is everything ethos, which is nonsense. Having a pint with the lads, and taking your kids down to the game on Saturday, for the crack, is what it's all about, and anybody who tells you different is talking out of their arse.

The Week in Nonsense

The current government has been a rich source of nonsense since they wrestled power away from the equally nonsensical Tories back in1997, and this week proved no different from the rest. Step forward Alan Johnson, Health minister, whose idea to combat sick note culture was to introduce something called a well note. He should really think these things out before he speaks. I would pass some kind of comment, but just the two words really do all the talking for themselves. Well note. Indeed. Not to be out done, Jack Straw has requested magistrates stop sending criminals to jail, because they are full. A brilliant idea...if you happen to be a burglar or mugger. Hell, I might even take it up myself. Enough of New Labour, for the moment anyway, and lets see what the health fascists have been up too.The BMA, who have condemned binge drink culture, and lobbied for higher booze taxes, have only gone and applied for a late license at its London HQ. It also appears there have been many complaints about drunken antics outside the building ranging from urinating in gardens to horseplay on nearby scaffolding. Tescos have also decided to jump on the booze band wagon, by demanding the government ban cut price alcohol, whilst at the same time refusing to cut its own prices. I suppose a £2 billion pound annual profit isn't enough for the evil empire. In Europe, UKIP leader Nigel Farrage has been caught out paying family members, out of publicly funded expenses, including £24,000 a year to his wife, for secretarial work, and God knows how much to his 19 year old son, who is a full time student. Chooo chooo. All aboard the gravy train...On the subject of wasting OUR money is this little gem. The King of Nonsense, Mr Tony Blair, announced he wanted at least 50% of young people to gain a degree within 5 years. The only problem was the amount of students dropping out. So over the last five years, according to Parliamentary report released last week, £800 million had been spent on trying to reduce this rate. Can you guess what happened?? That's right, the figures have not budged. The same amount of people are dropping out, as did in 2002. I have no idea what this vast amount of cash was spent on, perhaps a few trips to Australia or the Carribean to see how things work there, maybe a Bugatti Veyron or two to whisk focus groups around universities to brainstorm, who can tell, but it may as well have been used as bog roll for all the difference it has made.

STOP THE NONSENSE!!

Skint

Well I should be out on the tiles in Nottingham at this moment in time, but fate has dictated that instead I am sat in front of my PC, killing time. Pay day is Tuesday, and my pockets are currently empty, a situation shared with the Shoutster and Crespo, which put paid to our plans to watch the Mighty Bantams take on Notts County. And to top it all they won 3-1. So instead of football, beer and Hooters, I am sat hoping my lottery numbers come up. C'est la vie. On bright spot is that when I do get paid on Tuesday, City play host to Rotherham. Crespo can't make it, so El Grande Queso is making a rare mid week p.a., so I will be more than likely working with a hangover on Wednesday. I am keeping away from the Tequila though, and as far as I know it isn't anybodies birthday, so I shouldn't be puking in any parks the next day, as was the case last night game. TSV played on Friday and drew 0-0 with Koln. They have dropped to sixth in the table, but have not lost touch. Elster has just come in and given me a gob full. Apparently after being on the lash with G-Spot last night, I came home and jumped into bed kicking the Elster out in the process, and then refusing to budge. I have no recollection of this, so it must have been a pretty good night.

Wish I Had Thought of This

For some unknown reason, the local coucil have started up a billboard campaign, showing a cross section of Bradfordians (a black priest, disabled person, female councillar, etc.) in some bizarre attempt to reflect the diversity in the communtiy. What a fantastic use of tax payers money. So I had to laugh when I saw this pastiche posted on the facebook group, Bradfords Jesus Man, an apprectiation of Bradfords most recognisable citizen, the walking monk. Really wish I had thought of this...

Crespo Dazzler

Not to be out done by my bonny TSV Havana cap, the boy Crespo has been surfing ebay, looking for a shirt. The current Kappa kit isn't much to any of our liking, and it has taken him a couple of months to find this shirt, we don't know from which season, and it is an away kit, but it is pretty damn cool all the same. He said he had got the last medium sized one, and then looked at me, and said not to worry, there were plenty of extra large ones left. The cheeky scamp. Its not my fault white makes me look big. On a less upbeat note, the Right Honourable Shoutster has mislaid his wristband, and is considering ordering a new one. The numb nuts. Anyhow, he is thinking of ordering a new one from the official website, so I might split the shipping with him, and pick up some new gear as well, after all there is a sale on. Anyway for the ladies, this is Crespo showing off his new acquisition.

Lefty Lashes Late Winner

After last nights game down the Wood, careful consideration should be given to changing Leftys to Lucky, after he continued his unbeaten run. The game was a close run affair all night, neither team could make the decisive break to claim victory. The early front running was done by the JMF, who at the quarter hour mark had opened a five goal lead, the largest of the evening, but a lacklustre performance in nets by Crespo saw things all square in no time. Our lanky friend mad amends with a torrent of goals, but he was matched goal for goal by the mighty Clogs, who put in a majestic performance. As the seconds counted down, the game became cagey, the Mercenary pulling off a string of excellent saves, whilst Crespo held up the rearguard for the gaylord MoFo. But as the draw seemed the likely outcome, Crespo released Lefty Van Nistleroy, who took his time to slot an undeserved winner past the gallant Mercenary. Oh well, the sun shines on every rent boys arse now and again.

Line-ups;

JMF- Jamon, Crespo, Lefty, Luklear War and Dead Eye

EURO E- JohnnyMedia, Shouty, Clogs, Euro Bri and The Mercenary

2008 Season

• JMF wins -2



• Euro Elite - 5



• Draws - 0

I Miss....

Hello folks. With McEuro on a current sabbatical, I needed to think up a thread to replace it's old Tuesday evening slot. Late last year I turned 40, an age where you have not yet turned into a grumpy old curmudgeon, who harps on for hours about how great everything was back in the day, and how everything now is shite by comparison. Alternatively, I am no longer a young gad about town, convinced that everything new and shiny is the dogs bolloxs, and makes all that has gone before it, rancid spud water. Yet there are things I find myself wishing were still around. A lot of it may well be the mid life longings of a fella slightly past his sell by date, but I think in most cases I have a pretty good point, when I waffle on about things that ain't what they were....

This week I miss....Proper old school porn. You know what I mean. The stuff you used to find under your old mans bed, or stuffed down the back of the Chester drawers in an unmarked video case. Even better, the magazine some kid nicked off his older brother, and brought on to the school bus for you all to ogle on your way to another boring day in the classroom. Playboy, Penthouse, Mayfair, Men Only, Razzle....the mere mention these names bring on a semi. The English magazines were always my favourites. They weren't quite as polished as their US counterparts, the birds were always little bit plumper for starters, but I always liked it that way, plus the readers letters were more believable. I really liked the cartoon in Mayfair, where some buxom chick, whose name eludes me, always ended up in some predicament that ended with her in the buff. Quality. Around about 1980/1, Video players arrived, and a whole new world opened up. My first "bluey", as we liked to call them, featured the Legendary Johnny Holmes, and during school holidays it was around to a mates house, where about ten of us would sit in front of the television, eyes popping out, chins on the deck, hidings our stork ons with a well positioned cushion. As time passes on, we all lose touch with our old buddies, and actually get to sample what we saw on tape for real. Porn, for most of us went bye the bye, until the wonders of the internet came along, and my how things had changed. Once a couple of pictures of a naked bird proudly posing in the all together was all that was showed. Now they strike poses that you can practically see what they had for lunch. Three days ago! Long gone are the pert buxom ladies of my youth, replaced by hyper inflated bimbos, that somehow manage to take super large penis's up every orifice simultaneously. And where has all the pubic hair gone? I don't mean big bushy afro style pussies, but a little bit of curly hair wouldn't go amiss. Those ginormous, silicon enhanced boobies. I am surprised the geezer giving it to them doesn't require goggles, cause it looks like they could have someone's eye out with the valves that have replaced nipples. And while we are on the subject of the geezers, where have all the moustaches gone? There also used to be some attempt at a storyline as well, which was great, if for nothing else, to laugh at the hapless acting, or Dutch accents, before they got it on. Now it's just wham, bam, thank you mam, and on to the next cum bucket. All you guys under thirty are probably wondering what the fuck I am on about, but if you can, download Deep Throat or Debbie does Dallas for a taste of what I am on about. Bushy fannies, real tiities, moustaches, bad acting and corny jokes, plus it was all financed by the Mafia. How much cooler do you want it? Wish I had saved those old jazz mags as well, they might be worth something now. Well if all the pages hadn't been stuck together they might have.

Der Lowen Lose

After the Mighty Bantams lost on Saturday, Der Lowen sucumbed to a 1-0 defeat as well. As if this wasn't bad enough, I have found out our trip to see them play in April maybe could be snookered to boot. On the TSV site it has them playing on the 25th, the same as Bourussia M'Gladbachs website, but the Bundeslia website says there is no definate date, and it could be played on Monday night as we are flying overhead back to Blighty. Bolloxs. The cup game against Bayern isn't on Setanta either, so it could be next season before we clap eyes Der Lowen. Which does give us an excuse to visit Hamburg. There is also a growing swell of opinion that an Oktoberfest pilgrimage should happen in 2009, something I have absolutley no problem with. It is also looking doubtful that we are going to the Notts County game this weekend as well, Crespo and the Boy have work commitments, and the Right Honourable is saving his cash. I might still take off with the Ikester, but it is only a maybe.

The Week in Nonsense

Apologies for the lateness of this weeks nonsense report, I have been busier than usual. First up is a beauty. You really could not make this one up, in a million fucking years. Some group called Health England, a ministerial advisory board(???????) have proposed that cigarettes can only be sold to people carrying a smoking permit. Have we lifted our chin of the floor yet? Good I will continue. An annual fee of £10, plus the filling of a form, that needs to be signed off by a doctor, are required to gain the permit. But I say "Why stop there?" We could tattoo a woodbine all smokers foreheads, or if this proves to extreme a measure, they could be forced to wear cigarette badges on their clothing. I tell ya, what will these mother fuckers think up next? I have half a mind to take up the weed again myself. The worrying thing is, you just know some joker is thinking it might be a good idea to apply it to alcohol. If that were to ever happen, I am definitely off. Read the full article here. Next up on the "Your having a laugh" news is yet another pearler. As we are all well aware, the British are crap at foreign languages. Why learn Spanish, when shouting loud enough for long enough in anglais always seems to have the desired effect? Well this method doesn't fit nicely on some stat graph, so the government have hatched a cunning plan to make everyone bilingual. When it comes to GCSE time for all our delinquent knife carrying teenagers, they won't have to sit an oral exam to gain a pass in any foreign languages. This proposal has come from The Qualifications and Curriculum Authority (QCA) (??????), who claim it is too stressful for our skunked up student of today. Personally, on the evidence I witness on our streets on a daily basis, I reckon the little blighters are all too fucking thick. On the plus side, if and when this is introduced, I am going to sign up to do several languages, not bother showing up to class, and at exam time, I will stroll up to the examiner, and say in my best English accent "Yes, I can speak French/German/Urdu/Swahili perfectly" and leave proudly clutching my fistful of GCSE's. Innit. This weeks prize for stating the blindingly obvious goes to Hazel Blears, who said "Learning English must be a priority for migrants coming to the UK" No shit, Toots. But with all the benefit forms being in God knows how many different languages, where's the need? "Where is the social?" and "Give me, give me, give me, give me." appear to be the only phrases that are required to gain a house, car, mobile and free health care. Give me a break. Lastly this week, is the news that Labour are to nationalise Northern Rock. Now I am not a customer of this institution, but if these buffoons run a business anything like they are running the country, I would be lining up outside my local branch now to empty my account if I where.

STOP THE NONSENSE!!

Woooo Hoooo!!

I won!! A free flight to any Jet2 destination no less. So people do actually win competetions on the internet, who'd have thunk it. There is one small catch though. The Elster cottoned on th the fact I had won, and has dibs on being my travel companion when I decide where to visit, so no Bender trip this time. BOOOOOOOO!! But what the hey, me, Shouty and the Boy are off toGermany to see TSV in April so it's not all bad news. We have found a cheap and cheerful spot in Cologne near the Cathedral, and will be drinking Kolsh till it comes out of our ears. When i get back from the USA in June, we will have a get together to figure out a plan of attack for our European road trip sometime in September. I fancy an overnight stop in Luxembourg and Innsbruk, whilst El Grande Queso has his heart set on a day or two by the Italian lakes.

Bantams 1 Dale 2

Another last gasp goal put paid to the Bantams yesterday. After giving up an own goal early one to give Dale the lead, we were fortunate in the extreme to reach half time a goal down. Time and again they found space through the middle, and if they had a decent striker the game would have been dead and buried at the interval. Stuart must have given a right rocket during the half time team talk, because they came out firing. Yet again I missed a Peter Thorne goal, the Ikester needing a whizz, yet again. The game was pretty evenly contested over the remainder of the match, the travelling Rochdale support creating a pretty decent atmosphere, I always chuckle at the sheep shagger jibes, but McCall made an odd substitution as we were pressing to take the lead. He took of Thorne and bought on the young loan player Brown, whose diminutive stature was not really what was needed. He ran round like a headless chicken, and when he did get the ball, the bully boy bruisers of the Rochdale defence shoved him of it. With full time up, and the game seconds from the end, some toss pot Dale player strode forward and curled a belter beyond our keeper. These late goals look likely to have scuppered our chances of a play off spot.

Baz Watch;

Came on for last 15 minutes, replacing Willy Topp. Have yet to see these two in tandem. Linked well with Peter Thorne, carving out a nice opportunity for him. Robbed of a one on one chance by the linesman. He put himself about in his usual manner, but when Brown came on for Thorne, we seemed to lose momentum. These two as a partnership just doesn't look promising.

Pie Rating;

It has been a while, hangovers and pastry are not a good mix, but I was in fine fettle this week, and more importantly, starving. When we arrived at the ground, I got Ike his hot dog, and enquired about the pie selection. As I figured last week, they do indeed sell a cheese and onion variety, so I bought one, and stuck some ketchup on it. The pastry was pretty good, but the filling had a helmet cheese texture, and from what the JMF tell me, it tasted pretty similar to the stuff as well. I will definitely not be re-visiting this particular savoury again. I think next time I am not hungover, I will revisit the Chicken Balti offering.

Nonsense Road

I had to go to Gatwick yesterday on business, and what a fucking ball ache it turned out to be. I had to be there for 10:30 a.m. so to save getting up at stupid o'clock, I arranged an overnight stay. I thought if I set off around 8 p.m., miss the traffic and be there in time to blow the head off a couple of pints before retiring for the evening. The old SatNav said 243 miles, and reckoned just under four hours, something I figured I could knock at least an hour and a half off, but then I forgot to factor in all the bullshit nonsense that has been foisted upon this country. I was flying, till I hit some invisible road works a little south of Sheffield. Three lanes of pristine motorway, crystal clear evening, light trafffic and not a workman to be seen for miles. Yet for some unknown reason, there was a fifty mile an hour limit, enforced by an average speed camera. And it went on and on and on. Finally the restrictions were lifted, and off I set, hoping to make up lost time, and things looked rosy for the next fifty miles, till I was struck yet again by the same curse that seemed to go on forever. The major difference with this one, was that it went suddenly down to one lane, which meant, with the M25 only 40-50 miles away, I got to sit stationary in the middle of nowhere for half an hour, as all the knobheads clogged up the bottle neck, by flying down the soon to be closed lane, and trying to muscle in at the last minute. Finally I reached the M25, ready to to burn off the final leg of my journey, only for the SatNav to start bleeping speed camera locations, limiting me to sevnty m.p.h. on an empty road, in the middle of the night. Still the SatNav was still wrong about the journey time. It took half an hour longer. This was nothing to the trip home. Again four hours was the estimated travel time, and off I set at 3 p.m., thinking I could get home in plenty of time for footie. After about five mother fucking miles though, I was stuck on a monitored M25, flashing a 50m.p.h speed limit, for reasons I am unable to comprehend. Five lanes of motorway, crawling along at twenty miles under the speed limit, with no roadworks or crashes or reason. After a seemingley endless passage of time on the M25, I got to park up and watch the stationary road diggers and workman on th M1, that were supposedley working, to grant me the chance to sit there and wonder what the holy fuck I was doing sitting still on road, for the reason of their supposed work. At least I got to laugh at the average speed cameras, set too 50 m.p.h., as I crawled past at the giddy speed of five miles per hour. This went on for 15 miles. Once cleared, I then had to put up with the morons who stick on the cruise contol, and drive along the middle and outer lane refusing to budge. Then there was the people who slam on for no reason. And why do people whack on fog lights in the slightest of mists? I could continue to catalouge the stupid drivers, and pointless road works for the next three hours, but I think you may well have got the point by now. I arrived home at 8:30 p.m., five and a half hours after setting off. Un- fucking-beleivable.

Shoutydinho!

I was stuck somwhere near Derby. Crespo says we won by 4 or 5, and the Right Honourable Shoutster stole the show.

Line-ups;

JMF- Jamon, Funky Pedestrian, King Dave, Luklear War and Dead Eye

EURO E- JohnnyMedia, Shouty, Crespo, Young Gaz and The Mercenary

2008 Season

• JMF wins -1



• Euro Elite - 5



• Draws - 0

Pretty Vacant

Another Bender Squad member passes 40, and I have just about recovered from the festivities. We kicked off round Bradford city centre around lunchtime, and after a few more sherberts after the match, it was off to Guiseppes Back Yard, for meatballs, pizza, garlic bread and Peroni's. After being politly told to keep the noise down in the Hare and Hounds, we staggered off to the Prune Park Inn, where all the bar staff laughed at Shouty for his performance the previous weekend. At last orders, Tony Helmet invited us back to his gaff, for a vodka binge, to finish off his 40th birthday celebrations. I finally manged to dodge Crespo and Shouty to finally leave around five thirty in the morning, heading to my parents house just up the road, because I had spent all my dosh, and couldn't afford to get home. I surfaced around three o'clock the next afternoon, emerging from a cloud of garlicy beer farts, to settle on the sofa for the duration. Of course the day went by in double quick time, and before you could say "I am to old for this shit", it was 7:45 Monday morning and time for work. Bolloxs.

Bantams 1 Shakers 2

Oh dear. After a decent start to 2008, and with hopes high against a lowly Bury team, we blew a one nil half time lead to lose 2-1. Even during the first half, we seemed out of sorts, although Peter Thorne scored a glancing header from an excellent Penford cross. But up until the interval, Bury looked limp. Heaven knows what their manger said at half time, but they were a different side the second half. The linesman flagged for one of the worst offside decisions I have ever seen, I think it was Starosta, looked clean through, and then minutes later gave, what looked to me anyway, a pretty soft penalty to set up Bury's equaliser. The rest of the game was pretty turgid stuff, and as it seemed the game would drift towards a draw, I went for a lag, and heard the Bury faithful go mental as the secured their first win in three months. Typical City. The result fucked up me and Crespos accumulator big time as well.

Baz Watch;

Played last twelve minutes. Performed like the rest of the lads, below par. Apart from a dazzling display of control and vision to set up Bullock (who missed badly), the Bazmeister failed to raise the team. Had a good chance to head in in from close-ish range, but being Baz failed to hit the target. It was quite amusing to see our fabled hit man team up with young Brown, who looks about the size of one of Conlon's sperm.

Still off the pies, rumour has it that they have a cheese and onion flavour that has alluded me up till now. I will investigate next weekend, when we play host to the Dale.

Cardiac Kids Strike Again

Yet again, Der Lowen came from behind to secure a late victory. Away at struggling Kaiserslauten, they were behind at half time, to a 11th minute penalty, and didn't find an equaliser until 73 minutes had passed. Against a team fighting relegation, three points were a neccesity if they were to keep alive any promotion hopes. And they were delivered in the last minute of regulation time, J Holbeas scoring the winner. This was a much needed three points after the league defeat last week, and see's TSV rise to fifth in the table, one point off the promotion places. Our hopes of going to see the Bourussia M'gladbach game are at above average at the moment, and the way the season is playing out, it could be vital to them joing Bayern in the Bundasliga.