Football

has no idea! how could he fluke that?!?
now wheres that picture where Lawro has a thatch on his head???

CLEAR WINNER!

some people are just haters.... for example Mikec spitting the dummy cause hodgson saying not to expect to much from fulham,

oii don't bring me into this. I'm not a hater. I just hate Man Utd. Which is pretty standard for non Man Utd fans I thought. Especially Liverpool fans

CLEAR WINNER!

Ahhh I was looking for this one... That was a great moment for all non chelsea fans...

oii don't bring me into this. I'm not a hater. I just hate Man Utd. Which is pretty standard for non Man Utd fans I thought. Especially Liverpool fans

just saying you tend to pre-overreact, no biggie.

I hate the scum too

YouTube - Giggs Fa Cup semi final 99

Yes. I will concur that Giggs goal is one of the greatest ever

Big up to Everton Ladies

The longest unbeaten run in the history of the Women's Premier League was ended as Everton won 3-0 at Arsenal yesterday. The Gunners, champions for the last five seasons, had not lost in the league in a 108-game sequence that stretched back to October 2003.

We're 6 points behind the leaders with 3 games to go....

guess what i've just read?

ha ha hah ahahahahahahahahhaahahahahahah.

Shearer to the Geordies?

Bang

he should have just let them go down, then get in there, keane-style.
heart instead of head, methinks.

Sorry about the ammount of text but if you have read the Dammed United, this is brilliant.

Sam Wallace:
A damned difficult day out – how Philip Brown suffered at the hands of Arsène
Monday, 23 March 2009

We will never know if Cesc Fabregas spat at the feet of Brian Horton, the assistant manager of Hull City, last Tuesday night. So, in the spirit of The Damned United film released on Friday – telling the story of Brian Clough's 44 days at Leeds United – let us fill in the historical gaps. David Peace's novel The Damned Utd is a gripping thriller written in his distinctive, quick-fire prose style. Dark and beguiling, it is much better than the film.
For the avoidance of doubt, and lawsuits, all the following is completely imagined. With apologies to Peace, here is a new (completely fictional) version of the story. This is Phil Brown's Damned Utd. It is Tuesday 17 March at the Emirates Stadium.
Hateful place, spiteful place. The stadium and the fans. The concrete and the glass. The mezzanine level podium and the Emirates gourmet burgers. No place for a team from east Yorkshire to come and win. No place for my Hull City to come and win an FA Cup tie.
That's what Big Sam told me.
But Big Sam's not here tonight, just me and Brian. Loyal Brian. Brian likes me. Brian believes in me. Brian helped me after Derby sacked me.
Down the Holloway Road in our luxury coach, nothing but the best for my lads. Through the gates, inside the stadium, into the belly of the beast. Arsenal officials everywhere. Parking the coach, unloading the kit, holding doors open. His officials, his stadium, his doors, his eyes everywhere.
Dirty Arsenal, hateful Arsenal.
Off the coach, down the corridor, round the corner, past the office. His office. Arsène's office, Arsène's desk, Arsène's chair. Arsène's dossiers on all the best young players from the Ivory Coast. Arsène's scouting reports. Arsène's sports nutrition recipe book.
He never bloody shakes hands. That's what Big Sam told me. Lucky if you get a bloody glass of wine after a game at this place.
"Gaffer, your microphone earpiece is ready to be fitted," says Brian. "And I've laid out your best jacket from Harvey Nichols in Leeds. We'll show these London buggers we've got a bit of style."
In the ear. Round my chin. In front of my mouth. The earpiece is in place. Sat next to the chairman in the stand. The cameras on me.
Not Sky Sports. Oh no, not bloody good enough for Sky Sports this game. Bloody Setanta for Hull City.
Arsène doesn't see you. Arsène stays away from the boardroom, away from the tunnel. Doesn't even acknowledge you, Philip Brown, born in South Shields, year of our Lord 1959. Doesn't acknowledge you exist.
Thirteen minutes gone. One-nil. Nicholas Jonathan Barmby. Brilliant little bloody Barmby. Brilliant bloody goal. Chairman going crazy next to me. Thinks we're going to Wembley now. This is it. This is it.
"Gaffer," says Brian's voice crackling in the earpiece, "Wenger's moaning at the referee. Won't bloody leave it alone. Says we're time-wasting. What should I do?"
What should he do? What should you do? Your destiny reaching out to you, Wembley calling. They don't teach this on the managers' course at Warwick University. Your decision, your call, no Big Sam here to help. You press the "speak" button on your two-way radio.
"Retaliate, Brian," you say, "retaliate."
Out the directors' box, down the stairs, through the tunnel. Into the dugout. Your dugout. Brian shouting at Arsène. You shouting at Geovanni. Never bloody tracks back. Down the tunnel at half-time. Stewards pushing, stewards shouting.
You tell your lads that they are 45 minutes away from Wembley, 45 minutes away from the biggest bloody game of their lives. Ricketts, Dawson, Ashbee, Barmby, Fagan, Gardner. Good lads, English lads, not like their mob. "Gaffer," says Brian. "Setanta want a word with you."
Not now, Brian. Not now, Setanta. History awaits.

Lost it 2-1. Lost it to Riley, lost it to Gallas, lost it to him. Him with his fists clenched, him hugging Pat Rice, him disappearing without a handshake. Back into the tunnel, players waiting, your players waiting, waiting for a fight. Their lot shouting in French, your lot answering in Yorkshire. French and Yorkshire. Yorkshire and French.
Then something said in Spanish from a kid in jeans and a hoodie. Except he's not just a kid. He's their kid. The kid. Their bloody captain dressed like a yob and shouting at Brian.
"Don't give me any of your Spanish nonsense," says Brian. "I've been there on holiday. Bloody average. Give me Cleethorpes any day. What did your lot do in the war, anyway? Hopeless. No bloody use to anyone. You were lucky to win Euro 2008. Penelope Cruz can't act neither. Salvador Dali? Don't make me laugh."
Splat. Someone has spat. Someone has spat at Brian's feet.
All hell has broken loose in the Emirates Stadium, Tuesday 17 March, year of our Lord 2009. There is shoving and pushing. Pushing and shoving. But not Phil Brown. Phil Brown is not there. Phil Brown is with the man from Setanta. Phil Brown is looking at the replays on the big flatscreen television. Phil Brown is telling the world. Phil Brown is telling Setanta's estimated one million subscribers.
He is telling them what he knows about Arsenal, about him, about Arsène. The words tumbling out. The earpiece still crackling in his pocket where he has left it. "Gaffer? Gaffer?" says Brian's tinny voice. "I've got Fabregas in a headlock. What should I do now?"

Get in!

CLEAR WINNER!

Haha, I am an Asenal fan for one photo.

Magic!

The messiah returns.. those Geordies have had more homecomings than days in employment. at least it will sell some shirts

NEWCASTLE OPT FOR MAGIC BEANS

NEWCASTLE United today pinned their hopes on a bag of magic beans bought on the way to market.

** **
The beans have been a regular on Match of the Day

The relegation threatened club said the beans had been acquired in a exchange for an old cow in a deal worth some beans and a cow.

Newcastle fans were ecstatic at the return of the bag of beans which spent 10 glorious years sitting on the opposition goal line at St James's Park.

The beans will now be thrown out of a window in a last-ditch bid to keep the Magpies in the top flight.

Bill McKay, vice-chairman of the Toon Army supporters club, said: "Why waste money on an experienced manager with a good track record who knows how to get the best out of an unremarkable squad when you can just some chuck some magic beans into the garden and see what happens next?

"After years of disappointment and instability, Newcastle fans can now look forward to a period of beanstalks, stolen geese, thwarted, bread-making giants and an unlimited supply of big, shiny golden eggs."

But Charlie Reeves, football analyst at Donnelly-McPartlin, said: "It's a bold move. The only obstacle I can foresee is that while magic beans have been known to work, their success is limited exclusively to children's fairytales.

"The problem is that the Premier League is very real and, unfortunately for Newcastle, a bag of magic beans is not going to work just because they really, really want it to."

CAPELLO FORCED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN DREADFUL AND LAUGHABLE

ENGLAND boss Fabio Capello has admitted he faced a tough choice between dreadful and laughable to partner Wayne Rooney in tonight's Word Cup qualifier against Ukraine

** **
Crouch had the best hair, said Capello

Capello revealed he had been forced to use barn doors and a cow's backside for target practice in a bid to solve this month's least appalling striker dilemma.

He said: "Crouch grazed the barn from six yards out, so he starts. My initial choice was between a drunken baby giraffe and a headless duck. We even considered a Spurs player."

However, when the England coach called Darren Bent to discuss his availability, the Spurs striker ruptured both hamstrings answering the phone, then fell down a flight of stairs onto a pair of rollerskates, before being dragged behind a lorry for several miles and then falling down a manhole.

Capello added: "We're actually missing Emile Heskey. Let that sink in for a moment..."

A win could see England top their group by eight points, but the coach warned: "There are no easy international games any more. Except Andorra. Okay, Kazakhstan too. Christ, there's actually a lot of shit out there, isn't there?"

Ukrainian striker Andriy Voronin said: "Liverpool fans called me a fat Legolas with the pace of an oil tanker in cold treacle but I will show I'm more than a lumbering porn-alike," before taking 20 minutes to storm out of the press conference.

Meanwhile, Michael Owen has vowed to get back into England contention by 'training hard, doing well for my club and then fucking off to America to play in a glorified pub league'.

YouTube - Dennis Bergkamp goal Arsenal v Newcastle

it just sublime!

i read once where he said there was once in his player career where he knew exactly what he was going to do before he did it. remember the take down and turn in one move? he did it for holland and Arsenal. two amazing strikes!
What a legend!

Yeah I agree, old Bergkamp was just the best. No doubt about it. A 100% commited professional

I hated the gooners less when he was there. Awsome player.

That Shearer to Newcastle story is an April Fools joke right?

Nope - shrewd(ish) move by him IMO. If they stay up he's a hero, if (and I hope they do) go down it's someone elses fault.

It might be a shrewd(ish) move by Shearer but Ashley needs to protect his investment by keeping them in the Premiership. Appointing a managerial novice like Shearer isn't going to help that, especially when the likes of Venables are available.