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.
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