Sunday, August 28, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
The Don of a New Era.... of Pish
Last season we were shit beyond measure, and the season before that we were shit beyond measure. This season we have a golden opportunity to make it three seasons of being shit beyond measure. No more finishing in the European placings for THIS backward, inbred team of England's lower division rejects, no, now we can look forward to season after season after season of circling the drain. The excitement of potential relegation is worth the admission fee alone.
But wait, am I being unfair?
This board has promised to put "significant investment" into the playing side of the club, and we all know that a promise made by the Aberdeen Board is a promise you can rely on... to be utter bollocks.
And so they replaced last seasons hopeless, talentless fucks with, let's see, ah yes, some NEW hopless, talentless fucks. Only, in a move that will surely delight everyone who supports this sad apology for a football club, they DIDN'T replace the two LEAST hopeless talentless fucks.
That's right. Rather than pull all the stops out in order to replace Nigerian U21 international, Sone Aluko, and full Scotland international Chris Maguire, the club have opted to just not fucking bother. So any creative spark that last seasons team of hopeless fucks may have had is gone. Bye-bye creativity, nice to have known ya. No place for your goal threat in the all new Season 2011-2012 Aberdeen team.
Of course I could just be being unfair to the club and the players, so let's see how they fare.
The opener for the new season was Aberdeen vs St. Johnstone. The Perth side rightly considered to be a relegation favourite, what with them being absolutely fucking terrible and all. Could this talentless Aberdeen team find a way through the mighty rock that is the St Johnstone defence, consisting as it does of four guys no-one has ever heard of?
But wait, am I being unfair?
This board has promised to put "significant investment" into the playing side of the club, and we all know that a promise made by the Aberdeen Board is a promise you can rely on... to be utter bollocks.
And so they replaced last seasons hopeless, talentless fucks with, let's see, ah yes, some NEW hopless, talentless fucks. Only, in a move that will surely delight everyone who supports this sad apology for a football club, they DIDN'T replace the two LEAST hopeless talentless fucks.
That's right. Rather than pull all the stops out in order to replace Nigerian U21 international, Sone Aluko, and full Scotland international Chris Maguire, the club have opted to just not fucking bother. So any creative spark that last seasons team of hopeless fucks may have had is gone. Bye-bye creativity, nice to have known ya. No place for your goal threat in the all new Season 2011-2012 Aberdeen team.
Of course I could just be being unfair to the club and the players, so let's see how they fare.
The opener for the new season was Aberdeen vs St. Johnstone. The Perth side rightly considered to be a relegation favourite, what with them being absolutely fucking terrible and all. Could this talentless Aberdeen team find a way through the mighty rock that is the St Johnstone defence, consisting as it does of four guys no-one has ever heard of?
Thursday, June 16, 2011
It's all coming together for the new season
With the release of something like 9 players, and debate about whether a tenth will be leaving (Aluko), the club is currently going through a typically Aberdeen close-season... inasmuch as we've signed one... that's ONE... player to cover the departures.
Further to losing Diamond, McNamee, Young, Hartley, Blackman, Maguire, Howard, Smith and Vujadinovic, we've brought in some dude called Mawene.
But, as usual, we're being told that the club won;t be hurried into signing players. Just because we might start the new season with three professional players is no reason for the club to be rushing around trying to sign players who might improve the side or give us some depth.
Last year we started our season with Duff and Young in defence. These two are actually midfielders, and they're terrible at that. Taking guys who are shite at their own position ad putting them in a completely different position.... what could possibly go wrong?
Well, quite a lot, as it happens.
Fortunately neither of them will be playing for Aberdeen next season. In fact very few people will be playing for Aberdeen next season by the looks of things. But it's quality Aberdeen is interested in, not some silly huge squad full of enough players to cover every possible position. If you have a Right Back why the fuck would you need a left back? Symmetry? Fuck that shit... this is Aberdeen, and we don't need any of this fancy 'Proper Squad Depth' shite.
Anyway, people seem to trust Craig Brown without seeming to understand that he's not the one making the budget. He's currently looking at some part-time Spanish bloke, which is a vast improvement on Calderwood looking at part-time Dutch blokes... allegedly.
Plenty part-time players playing in the Highland League, why not look there?
Because people might suddenly realise that part time is part time regardless of the fucking country of origin?
Oh yes.
Further to losing Diamond, McNamee, Young, Hartley, Blackman, Maguire, Howard, Smith and Vujadinovic, we've brought in some dude called Mawene.
But, as usual, we're being told that the club won;t be hurried into signing players. Just because we might start the new season with three professional players is no reason for the club to be rushing around trying to sign players who might improve the side or give us some depth.
Last year we started our season with Duff and Young in defence. These two are actually midfielders, and they're terrible at that. Taking guys who are shite at their own position ad putting them in a completely different position.... what could possibly go wrong?
Well, quite a lot, as it happens.
Fortunately neither of them will be playing for Aberdeen next season. In fact very few people will be playing for Aberdeen next season by the looks of things. But it's quality Aberdeen is interested in, not some silly huge squad full of enough players to cover every possible position. If you have a Right Back why the fuck would you need a left back? Symmetry? Fuck that shit... this is Aberdeen, and we don't need any of this fancy 'Proper Squad Depth' shite.
Anyway, people seem to trust Craig Brown without seeming to understand that he's not the one making the budget. He's currently looking at some part-time Spanish bloke, which is a vast improvement on Calderwood looking at part-time Dutch blokes... allegedly.
Plenty part-time players playing in the Highland League, why not look there?
Because people might suddenly realise that part time is part time regardless of the fucking country of origin?
Oh yes.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu
HIBERNIAN 1- 3 ABERDEEN
Another season stumbles incompetently over the finishing line. With nothing to play for, except pride.... hahaha, I kid... this Aberdeen team has no pride to play for. So, with nothing to play for, particularly not pride, the Mighty Dons went to Easter Road for one last pointless kick-about before fucking off on their holidays, many of them (hopefully) never to return to the club.
The only thing of any note this game had was a minute's applause for Eddie Turnbull, formely of both Aberdeen and Hibs, and surely the Aberdeen players must have been wondering what the fuck that noise was, it having been so long since anyone clapped at an Aberdeen game.
21 minutes gone and Riorden blooters the ball square into the net to put the Edinburgh Celtic 1-0 up on the Dons. This is no shock, save it took about 20 minutes longer to happen than expected, the East Coast Tims having put the Special Kids under pressure from the word Go. We awaited the inevitable collapse as the Aberdeen team lost what little interest they had in the game to begin with.
But then something unexpected happened.
Desperate to put themselves in the shop window and fool any watching scouts into offering them a contract, the Aberdeen 'players' started to... actually, I think you had better sit down... they started to play football. Not for their non-existent pride, not for the fans, not for the club, but because they want to still be working after this season ends... that being the same day.
THREE goals by the men in red, two by Chris 'The Tongue' Maguire, put Celtibernian to the sword in a display of putting themselves in the shop window so blatant that the crowd forgot to boo this show of cynicism. Joyous cries of "Aberdeen! Aberdeen! Aberdeen!" resounded around Easter Road, and the final day of the season ended with a rare win for the wankers in red, utter humiliation for the Hibs team Aberdeen had just leapfrogged, and the promise of bottom six SPL football for Aberdeen next year.
So what have we learned from this season?
Well, we've learned that even though as unlikely as it seems, successive Aberdeen managers have unerringly assembled a team so bad that even standing in the same general area as these guys makes you unemployable. They're like a Black Hole of talentlessness, sucking the life and soul out of every living thing unfortunate enough to find itself within the gravitational pull of their collective shitness.
If Mr Happy were to watch this team for 15 minutes he would blow his own brains out in a fit of utter depression and hopelessness. If Mr Tickle were to clone himself 9100 times and tickle each and every Aberdeen supporter for the year he still couldn't raise a single, solitary fucking smile, AND he'd probably hang himself with his extraordinarily long arms to boot. If free blowjobs were given out with every ticket sold this club STILL couldn't persuade the fans to return to watch the absolute piss that is passed off as football by Aberdeen Football club.
In fact, if I were feeling cuntish, I would have these jokers up on charges of false advertising.
Aberdeen Football Club?
The only true word in that line is Aberdeen. They're certainly not footballers, and 'Club' suggests some form of common aim or interest.
And IF, and it's an IF the size of Saturn, IF the club moves to it's new location it won't even be Aberdeen Football Club any more... it'll be Loriston Shite Individuals.
Next season, we're told, things will be better.
We were told that last season... oh, and the season before that.
Well, if by 'Better' the club actually means 'Much, much worse' then I guess I can believe that.
Get fucked, Aberdeen.
Just... get fucked.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9484602.stm?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter
Another season stumbles incompetently over the finishing line. With nothing to play for, except pride.... hahaha, I kid... this Aberdeen team has no pride to play for. So, with nothing to play for, particularly not pride, the Mighty Dons went to Easter Road for one last pointless kick-about before fucking off on their holidays, many of them (hopefully) never to return to the club.
The only thing of any note this game had was a minute's applause for Eddie Turnbull, formely of both Aberdeen and Hibs, and surely the Aberdeen players must have been wondering what the fuck that noise was, it having been so long since anyone clapped at an Aberdeen game.
21 minutes gone and Riorden blooters the ball square into the net to put the Edinburgh Celtic 1-0 up on the Dons. This is no shock, save it took about 20 minutes longer to happen than expected, the East Coast Tims having put the Special Kids under pressure from the word Go. We awaited the inevitable collapse as the Aberdeen team lost what little interest they had in the game to begin with.
But then something unexpected happened.
Desperate to put themselves in the shop window and fool any watching scouts into offering them a contract, the Aberdeen 'players' started to... actually, I think you had better sit down... they started to play football. Not for their non-existent pride, not for the fans, not for the club, but because they want to still be working after this season ends... that being the same day.
THREE goals by the men in red, two by Chris 'The Tongue' Maguire, put Celtibernian to the sword in a display of putting themselves in the shop window so blatant that the crowd forgot to boo this show of cynicism. Joyous cries of "Aberdeen! Aberdeen! Aberdeen!" resounded around Easter Road, and the final day of the season ended with a rare win for the wankers in red, utter humiliation for the Hibs team Aberdeen had just leapfrogged, and the promise of bottom six SPL football for Aberdeen next year.
So what have we learned from this season?
Well, we've learned that even though as unlikely as it seems, successive Aberdeen managers have unerringly assembled a team so bad that even standing in the same general area as these guys makes you unemployable. They're like a Black Hole of talentlessness, sucking the life and soul out of every living thing unfortunate enough to find itself within the gravitational pull of their collective shitness.
If Mr Happy were to watch this team for 15 minutes he would blow his own brains out in a fit of utter depression and hopelessness. If Mr Tickle were to clone himself 9100 times and tickle each and every Aberdeen supporter for the year he still couldn't raise a single, solitary fucking smile, AND he'd probably hang himself with his extraordinarily long arms to boot. If free blowjobs were given out with every ticket sold this club STILL couldn't persuade the fans to return to watch the absolute piss that is passed off as football by Aberdeen Football club.
In fact, if I were feeling cuntish, I would have these jokers up on charges of false advertising.
Aberdeen Football Club?
The only true word in that line is Aberdeen. They're certainly not footballers, and 'Club' suggests some form of common aim or interest.
And IF, and it's an IF the size of Saturn, IF the club moves to it's new location it won't even be Aberdeen Football Club any more... it'll be Loriston Shite Individuals.
Next season, we're told, things will be better.
We were told that last season... oh, and the season before that.
Well, if by 'Better' the club actually means 'Much, much worse' then I guess I can believe that.
Get fucked, Aberdeen.
Just... get fucked.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9484602.stm?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Another Fucking Beating... that's the spirit.
Aberdeen 0 - 1 St. Mirren
In the last home game of the season the most useless, feckless, clueless, talentless collection of fuckwits, retards, shitbags and anal prolapses the game of football has ever seen assembled into a single 'team' had a chance to at least redeem itself in a very, very minor way.
They had the opportunity, against another team of hopeless dickbags, to apologise to the fans in the only way possible... and that was to play as though the red shirt meant something to them. To go out there and show the fans, and the world, that while this Aberdeen team is the footballing equivalent of the Keystone Cops, they do have a little bit of fight about them. A little bit of self-respect.... fuck it... a little bit of life somewhere deep down in their dead, passionless souls.
And of course, they lost. Again.
Lumbering slowly around the pitch like they'd been out drinking till the early hours, and had only turned up at the stadium because someone promised them more drink, or maybe some charlie for tooting, our special kids made about as much effort to play football as Michael Jackson did to promote Black Identity.
Before a crowd of, I think it must have been about 3, they did their thing once more. That thing where they can't pass, won't run, don't shout, don't shoot... oh, and officially this game made it 190 minutes without a shot on target. I don't mean without a goal... I mean without a fucking single, solitary shot on target... can anybody beat THAT, Mr Roy Castle?
So anyway, yeah, they did that thing again. That thing where they're absolute, unadulterated shoite.
St. Mirren must have known this would be the day they saved themselves from relegation. The day where they came up against the only team in the league... fuck, the only team on the planet... where they could be guaranteed a win if they simply turned up and acted like footballers.
So turn up they did, and while St. Mirren is by no means anything but a terrible, terrible team of just unbelievably shit players, they did just enough to win the game. And that 'just enough' was to get one attempt on target.
That's all it takes... one attempt.
All that stood between the net and the ball was Jamie 'Clangers' Langfield.
Another way of saying that is that nothing stood between the ball and the net.
It wasn't even a well hit shot. Wardlaw attempted a volley, but being a St. Mirren player the best he could manage was a sclaffed effort that wouldn't have been out of place on 'Shittest attempt of the season', that hilarious review of bad attempts at goal that I just imagined as a real TV show.
Langfield, made a good show of pretending to get the ball, but it "squirmed under him and into the net"
Well, given how fucking ugly that guy is I can only imagine that's about the only thing that's ever squirmed under him. Still, he's as good a keeper as he is handsome, and it came as a great relief to Dons fans everywhere that he signed on for another year of failure.
And so St. Mirren were saved, and there was much rejoicing on the streets of St. Mirren.
And so Aberdeen was shit, and there was mighty boos from the one guy left in the ground to watch the Dons players slope off to the bar for a well deserved piss up.
Well done lads, you did yourselves justice once more.
Next up, the last game of the season... thankyejeeesus... an away game against another team of terrible footballers, Hibernian... that reincarnation of Pele's Brazil, only shit.
Oh the apathy.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9480345.stm
In the last home game of the season the most useless, feckless, clueless, talentless collection of fuckwits, retards, shitbags and anal prolapses the game of football has ever seen assembled into a single 'team' had a chance to at least redeem itself in a very, very minor way.
They had the opportunity, against another team of hopeless dickbags, to apologise to the fans in the only way possible... and that was to play as though the red shirt meant something to them. To go out there and show the fans, and the world, that while this Aberdeen team is the footballing equivalent of the Keystone Cops, they do have a little bit of fight about them. A little bit of self-respect.... fuck it... a little bit of life somewhere deep down in their dead, passionless souls.
And of course, they lost. Again.
Lumbering slowly around the pitch like they'd been out drinking till the early hours, and had only turned up at the stadium because someone promised them more drink, or maybe some charlie for tooting, our special kids made about as much effort to play football as Michael Jackson did to promote Black Identity.
Before a crowd of, I think it must have been about 3, they did their thing once more. That thing where they can't pass, won't run, don't shout, don't shoot... oh, and officially this game made it 190 minutes without a shot on target. I don't mean without a goal... I mean without a fucking single, solitary shot on target... can anybody beat THAT, Mr Roy Castle?
So anyway, yeah, they did that thing again. That thing where they're absolute, unadulterated shoite.
St. Mirren must have known this would be the day they saved themselves from relegation. The day where they came up against the only team in the league... fuck, the only team on the planet... where they could be guaranteed a win if they simply turned up and acted like footballers.
So turn up they did, and while St. Mirren is by no means anything but a terrible, terrible team of just unbelievably shit players, they did just enough to win the game. And that 'just enough' was to get one attempt on target.
That's all it takes... one attempt.
All that stood between the net and the ball was Jamie 'Clangers' Langfield.
Another way of saying that is that nothing stood between the ball and the net.
It wasn't even a well hit shot. Wardlaw attempted a volley, but being a St. Mirren player the best he could manage was a sclaffed effort that wouldn't have been out of place on 'Shittest attempt of the season', that hilarious review of bad attempts at goal that I just imagined as a real TV show.
Langfield, made a good show of pretending to get the ball, but it "squirmed under him and into the net"
Well, given how fucking ugly that guy is I can only imagine that's about the only thing that's ever squirmed under him. Still, he's as good a keeper as he is handsome, and it came as a great relief to Dons fans everywhere that he signed on for another year of failure.
And so St. Mirren were saved, and there was much rejoicing on the streets of St. Mirren.
And so Aberdeen was shit, and there was mighty boos from the one guy left in the ground to watch the Dons players slope off to the bar for a well deserved piss up.
Well done lads, you did yourselves justice once more.
Next up, the last game of the season... thankyejeeesus... an away game against another team of terrible footballers, Hibernian... that reincarnation of Pele's Brazil, only shit.
Oh the apathy.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9480345.stm
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Night of the Living Shitbags
ABERDEEN 0 - 2 ST. JOHNSTONE
I'll level with you... I fucking LOVE zombie movies. Fucking LOVE them. The blank-eyed, shuffling corpses, lurching about the place with no idea that they're dead, just going through the motions of being alive, and maybe upping the ante with the occasional burst of activity when they see some juicy living flesh they can get torn into.
You can see where I'm going with this, I've no doubt.
This Aberdeen team, and I use the term 'team' only in its loosest possible sense, is the footballing equivalent of a Zombie movie. But not a good Zombie movie, oh fuck me, no. This isn't Dawn of the Dead or 28 Days Later, because those are worth watching. Lots of action. Lots of stupid fuckers getting ripped to pieces by the brainless hordes of re-animated diners. No, if this Aberdeen team were a Zombie movie it would be called, AberDeen of the Dead, or, Night of the Living Shitbags.
For 90 minutes nothing would happen, except maybe a couple of them might bump into each other accidentally, or maybe one of them might fall over their own fucking feet and have no idea how to get back up. Then the credits would roll, and you'd be all... "What the fuck? Nothing happened. Surely something was meant to happen?"
Oh, and maybe, as you get up to leave, one of the Zombies might flip you off or throw you a 'wanker' sign.... just to compound how much you've been cheated by watching 90 minutes of sweet fuck all.
"Hey you!" The Zombie would shout. and you would turn around, and the Zombie would be all, "Hahaaaaa.. wwwaaaaaankah!"
How would you feel about that?
Anyway, for 90 minutes this Aberdeen team shuffled around, going through the motions of being footballers... inasmuch as they were wearing football costumes and pretending like they were playing football, sort of, while around 6000 people in the crowd went, "What the fuck's going on? I thought the football was on now, but instead what we've got is eleven a side shitbaggery. Oy, when does the football start?"
Of course, Craig Brown kept faith with all the cunts who've let him down repeatedly, and who got the previous manager the dunt, as you would. And why not? When you've got a team of worthless fuckers who have no intention of trying a leg for the manager, the club or their own fucking self-respect... because they don't have any self-respect.... then what you get is a hiding from the latest in a long line of semi-retarded football teams, this time St. Johnstone.
St. J must have thought all their birthdays had come at once when they lined up and saw this Aberdeen team staring back with their dead, disinterested eyes.
Fortunately the end of the season is just around the corner, and we'll be able to get rid of a few of them... but rest assured, next season we'll be looking at pretty much the same team of undead shitbags, shambling around Pittodrie like one of fucking George Romero's wet dreams.
Fuck them.
Fuck them all.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9476489.stm
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
WINNING!
ABERDEEN 1 - 0 INVERNESS CT
In a match that can only be described as Aberdeen versus Caley Thistle, Aberdeen stepped up to the plate, took a massive, wild, hopeful swing and, defying the odds and the gods, managed to somehow come out of this shambolic abortion of a football match with a win.
I immediately ran to the front office and asked the woman at the desk how many points we got for a win, since I'd forgotten in the months since the last time we managed to do such a thing.
She wasn't sure either, and after being made to hold on for about 30 minutes while she asked various other people at the club, she came back and said that no-one knew. She thought it might be two points for a win, a couple of the boot boys thought it might be three, and one lad apparently thought you got 10 points for winning.
In the end I phoned a mate who supports Dundeh Unehtehd, and he confirmed that it's three points for a win. He also confirmed that I'm a sheepshagging bastard and that, hahahaha, get it fucking up ye!
So three points for the mighty, Dandy, Bollocksy Dons, at the tail end of a season in which we once more reverted to not only flirting with relegation, but pulling relegation's cock out and giving it a fucking good sucking. Fortunately relegation didn't pop it's First Divisiony load all over our faces this year, but many more season like this one and we'll be finding ourselves on the receiving end of a veritable Bukkake of relegation jisms. Relegation cum will be literally running down our cheeks and filling our mouths with it's salty trips to crappy grounds, and stinging our eyes with the cold, congealed semen of no media coverage.
Friday, April 29, 2011
We done got ussels a draaaaw!
HAMILTON 1- 1 ABERDEEN
Well, a ringydingdang, and a pingpangpoke!
Our special little boys done gone and got themselves one of them thar draaaaws!
In a game where the boys in red had a chance to beat the supposedly worst team in the league, and guarantee SPL football for another whole season, whoodeefuckingdoo, we conspired to go a goal behind and injure our own goalkeeper in a few seconds of football SO inept that I swear the ghosts of the Keystone Cops were taking notes on how fucking up in spectacular fashion should be done properly.
Now, I know I said 'we' conspired.... but in reality this was all about Zander Diamond, baby.
And here's how he did it.
Finding himself with the football, and with enough time to write a hundred page thesis on 'Shit Defenders Shouldn't Do, Because If They Did They Should Be Fucking Shot' Mr Diamond, allegedly a defender... fuck it.. allegedly a footballer... did exactly what would have been written on page 1 of aforementioned hypothetical thesis.
With all the time in the world, ZD passes the ball straight to Dougie Imrie. Nothing unusual about that, you might think... well, you'd be wrong. Doogie Imrie, you see, is a Hamilton striker. And Zander Diamond is an Aberdeen defender..... are you spotting the thing what Zander did wrong?
That's right.. what Zander did wrong was turn up for fucking work that morning.
Anyway, not happy with simply gifting the ball to Dooooogie Imrie, Zander decides that what will REALLY put the icing on the cake is to smack some cunt in a really vicious manner. So, desperate to make up for the error of 2 seconds earlier, Zander launches himself at a certain Jamie 'Jamie Langfield' Langfield. And to be fair to Zander he caught the fucker a beautiful knee right in the face. You could hear the crack on King Street.
Now the only real problem with this is that Jamie 'Jamie Langfield' Langfield is the Aberdeen keeper. And Zander Diamond is...?
That's right, an Aberdeen defender.
So while Imrie and his fellow Hamiltonians wheel away in celebration, we're left a goal down, with a badly injured goalkeeper, and Zander Diamond unhurt. A triple whammy of bad news.
Still, Derek Young was still on the park, and unhurt so... oh.. a quaduple whammy.
Immediately the crowd start chanting Zander's name in a bid to boost his confidence.
"Diamond! Get ye tae FUCK!" the crowd screams.
Craig Brown, bless the 70 year old man, clutches at his chest and looks as though he's simultaneously having a heart attack, shitting a hedgehog, giving birth to octuplets and remembering that one time he came face to face with a zombie grizzly bear in a broken lift. None of those things appear to have pleased him much. He sinks his heid into his hands and sobs uncontrollably.
The team rallies, though, and they immediately try to string two passes together. It didn't come off of course... Christ, not even close.... but you could tell they were trying.
Actually, that last bit is a lie. Despite going a goal down to their fellow relegation candidates, this magnificent Aberdeen team increased their work rate not one fucking iota. In fact they noticeably slowed down. Terrified of the ball, and even more terrified of the consequences of doing something with it, the Aberdeen players immediately began trying to run as far away from the ball as they possibly could. Waves of Hamilton attacks now commenced, thwarted only by the fact that Hamilton... and let's be completely fair to them... are absolute fucking shite. That they scored even one, gifted to them though it was, is something miraculous on a par with the resurrection of Jesus Christ as a tap dancing armadillo.
Ordinarily a team as bad as Hamilton would sit back and defend this precious one goal lead, but Hamilton were aware that this was Aberdeen they were playing, not a proper football team. Jerel Ifil may have gone, but Zander Diamond remains.... and let's be frank, a team of blind quadriplegics would fancy their chances against a side with Zander Diamond in it.
Watching Hamilton batter ineptly at an Aberdeen side so bad that only a team as bad as Hamilton could fail to find the net a second time... it was a lot like watching a really stupid dog trying to find a way past a hedgehog's spikes so it can bite the fucker. The antagonist doesn't know what the fuck it's doing, and the 'victim' is too scared to do anything other than curl up into a ball and hope for the best.
In a last desperate gamble, Brown threw on a striker. A black man with the VERY unimaginative name of Blackman....
...mind you it would be fucking funny if EVERY Aberdeen player was named after their most obvious trait.
The black man would be Blackman, Derek Young Would be Derek Yung... oh... and Zander Diamond would be Alexander Shite.
Anyway, within one femtosecond of being on the park Blackman has the ball in the net, has almost set up another, hits the woodwork, delivered three babies in the Merkland Road Stand and single-handedly saved the match and Aberdeen's SPL status.
Immediately after the game Brown congratulated Blackman by telling him to fuck off back to England.
I bet you think I'm joking.
But I'm not.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9464479.stm
Well, a ringydingdang, and a pingpangpoke!
Our special little boys done gone and got themselves one of them thar draaaaws!
In a game where the boys in red had a chance to beat the supposedly worst team in the league, and guarantee SPL football for another whole season, whoodeefuckingdoo, we conspired to go a goal behind and injure our own goalkeeper in a few seconds of football SO inept that I swear the ghosts of the Keystone Cops were taking notes on how fucking up in spectacular fashion should be done properly.
Now, I know I said 'we' conspired.... but in reality this was all about Zander Diamond, baby.
And here's how he did it.
Finding himself with the football, and with enough time to write a hundred page thesis on 'Shit Defenders Shouldn't Do, Because If They Did They Should Be Fucking Shot' Mr Diamond, allegedly a defender... fuck it.. allegedly a footballer... did exactly what would have been written on page 1 of aforementioned hypothetical thesis.
With all the time in the world, ZD passes the ball straight to Dougie Imrie. Nothing unusual about that, you might think... well, you'd be wrong. Doogie Imrie, you see, is a Hamilton striker. And Zander Diamond is an Aberdeen defender..... are you spotting the thing what Zander did wrong?
That's right.. what Zander did wrong was turn up for fucking work that morning.
Anyway, not happy with simply gifting the ball to Dooooogie Imrie, Zander decides that what will REALLY put the icing on the cake is to smack some cunt in a really vicious manner. So, desperate to make up for the error of 2 seconds earlier, Zander launches himself at a certain Jamie 'Jamie Langfield' Langfield. And to be fair to Zander he caught the fucker a beautiful knee right in the face. You could hear the crack on King Street.
Now the only real problem with this is that Jamie 'Jamie Langfield' Langfield is the Aberdeen keeper. And Zander Diamond is...?
That's right, an Aberdeen defender.
So while Imrie and his fellow Hamiltonians wheel away in celebration, we're left a goal down, with a badly injured goalkeeper, and Zander Diamond unhurt. A triple whammy of bad news.
Still, Derek Young was still on the park, and unhurt so... oh.. a quaduple whammy.
Immediately the crowd start chanting Zander's name in a bid to boost his confidence.
"Diamond! Get ye tae FUCK!" the crowd screams.
Craig Brown, bless the 70 year old man, clutches at his chest and looks as though he's simultaneously having a heart attack, shitting a hedgehog, giving birth to octuplets and remembering that one time he came face to face with a zombie grizzly bear in a broken lift. None of those things appear to have pleased him much. He sinks his heid into his hands and sobs uncontrollably.
The team rallies, though, and they immediately try to string two passes together. It didn't come off of course... Christ, not even close.... but you could tell they were trying.
Actually, that last bit is a lie. Despite going a goal down to their fellow relegation candidates, this magnificent Aberdeen team increased their work rate not one fucking iota. In fact they noticeably slowed down. Terrified of the ball, and even more terrified of the consequences of doing something with it, the Aberdeen players immediately began trying to run as far away from the ball as they possibly could. Waves of Hamilton attacks now commenced, thwarted only by the fact that Hamilton... and let's be completely fair to them... are absolute fucking shite. That they scored even one, gifted to them though it was, is something miraculous on a par with the resurrection of Jesus Christ as a tap dancing armadillo.
Ordinarily a team as bad as Hamilton would sit back and defend this precious one goal lead, but Hamilton were aware that this was Aberdeen they were playing, not a proper football team. Jerel Ifil may have gone, but Zander Diamond remains.... and let's be frank, a team of blind quadriplegics would fancy their chances against a side with Zander Diamond in it.
Watching Hamilton batter ineptly at an Aberdeen side so bad that only a team as bad as Hamilton could fail to find the net a second time... it was a lot like watching a really stupid dog trying to find a way past a hedgehog's spikes so it can bite the fucker. The antagonist doesn't know what the fuck it's doing, and the 'victim' is too scared to do anything other than curl up into a ball and hope for the best.
In a last desperate gamble, Brown threw on a striker. A black man with the VERY unimaginative name of Blackman....
...mind you it would be fucking funny if EVERY Aberdeen player was named after their most obvious trait.
The black man would be Blackman, Derek Young Would be Derek Yung... oh... and Zander Diamond would be Alexander Shite.
Anyway, within one femtosecond of being on the park Blackman has the ball in the net, has almost set up another, hits the woodwork, delivered three babies in the Merkland Road Stand and single-handedly saved the match and Aberdeen's SPL status.
Immediately after the game Brown congratulated Blackman by telling him to fuck off back to England.
I bet you think I'm joking.
But I'm not.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9464479.stm
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
The SPL. It's the fucking BOMB!
So two pieces of news from last week, one pretty straightforward, the other simply unbelievable, disgusting, insane and fucked up.
First, Neil Lennon, manager of Celtic, was sent a fucking LETTER BOMB by unknown agencies, otherwise known as Rangers supporters. A fucking LETTER BOMB. Designed to KILL the fat, ginger fucker, obviously. Now, yes, he's a despicable piece of shit, and yes his very existence hinders most right-minded people's breathing, but a fucking LETTER BOMB?
And now for the fucking unbelievable piece of news.
Darren Mackie, possibly the worst attacker to have played long-term for Aberdeen, is up for a testimonial.
10 years, and still only in double figures as far as goals are concerned. Not even close to notching a hundred goals. In fact, going by the stats, he'll have to be here for another decade before he sclaffs in number 100. And by that time he'll be getting ANOTHER fucking testimonial.
Now in all honesty it's hard to begrudge 'The Lioncub'* his testimonial. He's always given the impossible, though oft-touted, 110%. People seem to forget that 110% shite actually equates to 10% more shite than if he was only trying 100%. Logically it would be better for everyone if he only tried, say, 50% of the time, because then he'd only be half as shite.
I think that's how it works.
Anyway, letter bomb to Lennon?
Yawn... tell me something I WOULDN'T expect the Old Firm scum to do. Like NOT send a fucking letter bomb. Now THAT would be a fucking surprise.
But a testimonial for Mackie?
Jesus, the world has gone mad.
*Without a shadow of a doubt the gayest nickname for any player, ever.
First, Neil Lennon, manager of Celtic, was sent a fucking LETTER BOMB by unknown agencies, otherwise known as Rangers supporters. A fucking LETTER BOMB. Designed to KILL the fat, ginger fucker, obviously. Now, yes, he's a despicable piece of shit, and yes his very existence hinders most right-minded people's breathing, but a fucking LETTER BOMB?
And now for the fucking unbelievable piece of news.
Darren Mackie, possibly the worst attacker to have played long-term for Aberdeen, is up for a testimonial.
10 years, and still only in double figures as far as goals are concerned. Not even close to notching a hundred goals. In fact, going by the stats, he'll have to be here for another decade before he sclaffs in number 100. And by that time he'll be getting ANOTHER fucking testimonial.
Now in all honesty it's hard to begrudge 'The Lioncub'* his testimonial. He's always given the impossible, though oft-touted, 110%. People seem to forget that 110% shite actually equates to 10% more shite than if he was only trying 100%. Logically it would be better for everyone if he only tried, say, 50% of the time, because then he'd only be half as shite.
I think that's how it works.
Anyway, letter bomb to Lennon?
Yawn... tell me something I WOULDN'T expect the Old Firm scum to do. Like NOT send a fucking letter bomb. Now THAT would be a fucking surprise.
But a testimonial for Mackie?
Jesus, the world has gone mad.
*Without a shadow of a doubt the gayest nickname for any player, ever.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Kick, kick, kick, kick, punch, punch, kick, kick, punch, punch, kick, punchpunchpunch!
CELTIC 4 - 0 ABERDEEN
One of our periodic semi-final appearances came and went with the, by now, traditional 'Raping of the Anuses.' The Cliffnotes version goes like this.
One of our periodic semi-final appearances came and went with the, by now, traditional 'Raping of the Anuses.' The Cliffnotes version goes like this.
Both teams came onto the park and, despite competing as well as third rate monkey people can compete, it was fairly obvious that there was a sinister atmosphere as there always is when it comes to games against Celtic. The referee was, as usual, the ringleader in this brutal, pointless assault, and it was equally obvious that he was just waiting for any excuse to begin with the rapings and the buggery.
18 minutes in and the referee literally, and I do mean literally, literally rips the shorts off little Andy Considine, and with absolutely no provocation whatsoever starts fucking the Dons defender right up the arse. With a flourish of a red card, for little more than standing in the same general vicinity as a Celtic player... the aptly named 'Hooper' (Because he's a fucking hoop), the referee smacks wee Andy on the back of the head and proceeds with the unprovoked buggerings.
Women were screaming, children were crying, grown men were calling out for someone, anyone, to step in and stop the whole brutal, frenzied attack. But it just went on and on and on for the remaining seventy-odd minutes.
We knew it was coming, god help us we knew it was coming. It always happens that in a semi-final, regardless of the opposition, our boys are going to suffer through 90 minutes of humiliation and sexual assault, leaving the boys in red bloodied and sobbing. It doesn't even matter the opposition. A team comprising of nothing but Smurfs, My Little Ponies and magical Unicorns would end up pinning our players to the ground, ripping their shorts off and fucking them over and over and over again with their little blue Smurf cocks, and their sparkly My Little Pony cocks, and their wondrous, fantastical Unicorn horns.... and cocks.
At some point during this mass, officially sanctioned, gay gang raping of our innocent little boys, Celtic were able to find the time to score the traditional four goals against us, just to rub salt into the wounds. The bloody, gaping, savaged anal wounds.
Craig Brown came out and did the usual that successive Aberdeen managers have done for the last 16 years. He donned the ceremonial stiff upper lip and praised the ineptitude and subservience with which his Aberdeen team had accepted the arse fuckings.
"I thought the lads did very well," said Craig, probably. "I was particularly pleased with the way we once more capitulated in a cup semi-final, just exactly like the bunch of frightened, 16 year old bitches we are."
Craig went on to say, "Actually, I'm happy about everything. Honestly. Try getting me to say something's shite or just plain fucking unfair... Go ahead try. Ask me about Hitler. Hitler? Well I think he was a lovely man. Referees? Tremendous examples of the human spirit, particularly when they're sending our players off for no reason whatsoever. Nuclear war? I think nuclear war is a wonderful, wonderful thing, and I won't say a bad thing about it."
He went on to tell the BBC Scotland reporter that he was 70 years old, you know, and that he still has all his own teeth. and everyone clapped in a thoroughly patronising manner.
Next up for Aberdeen, a bit of a relegation battle.
So that's nice.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
We Came.. we saw... we lost.
ABERDEEN 0 - 1 RANGERS
A reasonable effort from the goons in red against the west coast, rat-fucking scum... Rangers to the uninitiated... ended in a few half chances and another beating. We get beat more often than a red-headed step-child, but defeats to the forces of darkness always rankle.
If you're unfamiliar with Scottish football then some kind of an explanation of what Rangers is would seem to be in order. Probably the best way to describe them is this.
Picture Adolph Hitler. Close your eyes, and just imagine Adolph Hitler. Got him? Okay, now imagine that Hitler is a sectarian, hatemongering pedophile and rapist, as well as an anti-semitic mass murderer with all the morals of a rabid weasel in a box of chickens.
Are you imagining that?
Good.
Now, try to imagine something about a million times worse than a kiddy fiddling, jew-murdering rapist NAZI. And try, if you can, to imagine the stench of stale piss, shit, beer and cigarettes. Now put those images together.
Now put a blue and white scarf around the neck of whatever you're imagining.
And now have it say, "We arra peepul, byraway bigman, but!"
Okay, we now have a working model of how a Rangers supporter looks, smells, and sound.
If the Devil were real, rather than the fictional evil counterpoint to the fictional sky-daddy in the clouds, then it's safe to say that even Satan himself would cross the street.. fuck it, he'd cross a thousand lane motorway, just to avoid coming into contact with a Rangers supporter if he could.
So, anyway, a single goal was enough to see off the challenge of the Special Kids in Red at Pittodrie. Though only about 11,000 people bothered turning up to watch the ritual slaughter, despite it being one of the biggest matches of the year.
A lot of factors contributed to the small attendance. Nothing to play for, no-one wants to watch Aberdeen, no chance of a top six place, no-one wants to watch Aberdeen, a lot of injuries to the squad, no-one wants to watch Aberdeen, a low key build up, and of course no-one wants to watch Aberdeen.
Watching Aberdeen try to play football is a lot like watching a blind puppy try to negotiate an untidy room. You're rooting for the little fella, but the best it can do is fall over its own feet and shit itself in desperation.
We are that blind little puppy covered in shit.
We still smell better than the Huns though.
Match Report: http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9454874.stm
A reasonable effort from the goons in red against the west coast, rat-fucking scum... Rangers to the uninitiated... ended in a few half chances and another beating. We get beat more often than a red-headed step-child, but defeats to the forces of darkness always rankle.
If you're unfamiliar with Scottish football then some kind of an explanation of what Rangers is would seem to be in order. Probably the best way to describe them is this.
Picture Adolph Hitler. Close your eyes, and just imagine Adolph Hitler. Got him? Okay, now imagine that Hitler is a sectarian, hatemongering pedophile and rapist, as well as an anti-semitic mass murderer with all the morals of a rabid weasel in a box of chickens.
Are you imagining that?
Good.
Now, try to imagine something about a million times worse than a kiddy fiddling, jew-murdering rapist NAZI. And try, if you can, to imagine the stench of stale piss, shit, beer and cigarettes. Now put those images together.
Now put a blue and white scarf around the neck of whatever you're imagining.
And now have it say, "We arra peepul, byraway bigman, but!"
Okay, we now have a working model of how a Rangers supporter looks, smells, and sound.
If the Devil were real, rather than the fictional evil counterpoint to the fictional sky-daddy in the clouds, then it's safe to say that even Satan himself would cross the street.. fuck it, he'd cross a thousand lane motorway, just to avoid coming into contact with a Rangers supporter if he could.
So, anyway, a single goal was enough to see off the challenge of the Special Kids in Red at Pittodrie. Though only about 11,000 people bothered turning up to watch the ritual slaughter, despite it being one of the biggest matches of the year.
A lot of factors contributed to the small attendance. Nothing to play for, no-one wants to watch Aberdeen, no chance of a top six place, no-one wants to watch Aberdeen, a lot of injuries to the squad, no-one wants to watch Aberdeen, a low key build up, and of course no-one wants to watch Aberdeen.
Watching Aberdeen try to play football is a lot like watching a blind puppy try to negotiate an untidy room. You're rooting for the little fella, but the best it can do is fall over its own feet and shit itself in desperation.
We are that blind little puppy covered in shit.
We still smell better than the Huns though.
Match Report: http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9454874.stm
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Another Day Another Kick To The Balls
ABERDEEN 0 - 1 HIBERNIAN
Super Duper, another defeat. This time at the hands of Hibernian FC, the team from Edinburgh that has made a habit... nay, a TRADITION... of being absolutely shite. Sure, the media will have you believe that Hibs is the reincarnation of the Milan team of the 80s, but the truth is that they haven't been a force in Scottish football since the days of Georgie Best, when they won... absolutely fuck all. True, they've won 3 league cups since 1972, but seriously? The League Cup? You can buy a box of 6 League Cups for ten quid from ASDA Portlethen. I've got one I use for Smarties sitting on the kitchen table.
Super Duper, another defeat. This time at the hands of Hibernian FC, the team from Edinburgh that has made a habit... nay, a TRADITION... of being absolutely shite. Sure, the media will have you believe that Hibs is the reincarnation of the Milan team of the 80s, but the truth is that they haven't been a force in Scottish football since the days of Georgie Best, when they won... absolutely fuck all. True, they've won 3 league cups since 1972, but seriously? The League Cup? You can buy a box of 6 League Cups for ten quid from ASDA Portlethen. I've got one I use for Smarties sitting on the kitchen table.
Anyway, Craig Brown, Grand Master of Footballing Wizardry (Tactics Division), and current manager of AFC decided that today he was going to try something different. So confident of a win was our new manager that he decided he would be a good sport and play our wingers on the wrong sides. Aluko, you tricky left winger you, you go stand on the RIGHT hand side of the pitch.... no, the RIGHT. Yep, that's it. And Little Petey Pawlett, I'd like YOU to go stand over on the LEFT hand side of the pitch.
What's that, lads? You're going to be forced to check inside every time you want to put in a cross, meaning the flow of any attack on the wing is going to be broken up? Well, fuck you very much... who has the coaching badges?
Magennis, you used to be a goalie, right? Well I want you to play up front. Fucking top banana. This'll level the playing field sure enough.
So anyway, we lost. A goal to nil to Hibs at home. We did hit the woodwork though. Three times, in fact. If there were awards for NOT putting the ball in the net we'd be 3 points better off. Unfortunately those aren't the rules, so big fucking whoop for hitting the post and bar instead of the net.
I'm sure Craig won't be happy about that, but then I'm not very fucking happy that he doesn't know his left from his right, so stick them apples in yer pipe and smoke em.
Anyway, the team continues to show why only St. Mirren and Hamilton are lower in the scheme of SPL things this season. Although I do quite fancy St. Mirren to pass us in the next week or two, leaving us the luxury of looking down at Hamilton Academicals and going, "Hey, you lads are pish, eh?"
It's always nice to have someone to shit on, even if it's only Accies. The number of sides we can ridicule and taunt in a semi-vicious manner becomes smaller by the year. Without investment there's going to be a whole league of teams above us looking down and going, "Hey, how's the weather in the First Division, Spunkbandits?"
And we'll be like.... ".... Shit."
Thursday, April 7, 2011
We're Fucking Terrible
ST. MIRREN 3 - 2 ABERDEEN
Another game, another defeat. This is starting to get pretty fucking depressing, especially when you consider that the latest team of no-hopers to rape us, in a footballing sense, happens to be St. Mirren. If football teams were animals St. Mirren would be a three legged fucking donkey. And they beat us. At a canter. Because we're fucking terrible.
Still, at least we might not get relegated. Unless something unforeseen were to happen, such as, say, and for example, the bastards decide to decrease the league to 10 teams, relegating us, St. Mirren and Hamilton Academicals.
On the plus side, the manager seems to be a fairly cheery kinda cunt. Unless you piss him off, in which case he'll turn into a Tasmanian fucking Devil and chase you around the pitch like a sort of septuagenarian whirlwind, gnashing his teeth and trying to take a bite out of your arse. Moral of the story, not that I told you a story, is that you fuck with Craig Brown at your own peril.
I wouldn't mind if these defeats were just bad luck, or if every decision was going against us. Unfortunately the truth of the matter is that we've assembled a team so fucking awful that the human brain simply isn't capable of processing just how utterly fucking terrible they are. If just your basic, standard, run-of-the-mill fucking terrible was, say, the size of a peanut, then the team that has been brought together from the four corners of the British Isles (and sometimes beyond) to comprise the current Aberdeen squad is so fucking terrible that it would be a fucking terrible about a hundred and fifty thousand times larger than the pile of gold Stewart Milne has stashed in his Fort Knoxian fucking basement beneath his 23 bedroom mansion at an undisclosed, secret, Aberdeenshire location.
Don't ask how I came to that figure, because it was the culmination of several nights of intense scrutiny, fueled by wild speculation, randomly assumed notions, and large amounts of imported beer. Just know that the accuracy of that figure cannot be debated. Largely because I refuse to enter into a debate about it.
So where do we go from here?
I'd like to say onwards and upwards, but I'd be lying like a motherfucker if I did.
Onwards and upwards it is, then.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9446460.stm
Another game, another defeat. This is starting to get pretty fucking depressing, especially when you consider that the latest team of no-hopers to rape us, in a footballing sense, happens to be St. Mirren. If football teams were animals St. Mirren would be a three legged fucking donkey. And they beat us. At a canter. Because we're fucking terrible.
Still, at least we might not get relegated. Unless something unforeseen were to happen, such as, say, and for example, the bastards decide to decrease the league to 10 teams, relegating us, St. Mirren and Hamilton Academicals.
On the plus side, the manager seems to be a fairly cheery kinda cunt. Unless you piss him off, in which case he'll turn into a Tasmanian fucking Devil and chase you around the pitch like a sort of septuagenarian whirlwind, gnashing his teeth and trying to take a bite out of your arse. Moral of the story, not that I told you a story, is that you fuck with Craig Brown at your own peril.
I wouldn't mind if these defeats were just bad luck, or if every decision was going against us. Unfortunately the truth of the matter is that we've assembled a team so fucking awful that the human brain simply isn't capable of processing just how utterly fucking terrible they are. If just your basic, standard, run-of-the-mill fucking terrible was, say, the size of a peanut, then the team that has been brought together from the four corners of the British Isles (and sometimes beyond) to comprise the current Aberdeen squad is so fucking terrible that it would be a fucking terrible about a hundred and fifty thousand times larger than the pile of gold Stewart Milne has stashed in his Fort Knoxian fucking basement beneath his 23 bedroom mansion at an undisclosed, secret, Aberdeenshire location.
Don't ask how I came to that figure, because it was the culmination of several nights of intense scrutiny, fueled by wild speculation, randomly assumed notions, and large amounts of imported beer. Just know that the accuracy of that figure cannot be debated. Largely because I refuse to enter into a debate about it.
So where do we go from here?
I'd like to say onwards and upwards, but I'd be lying like a motherfucker if I did.
Onwards and upwards it is, then.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/scot_prem/9446460.stm
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