Why are you not watching the football!!!????!?

[Spoon of Ploff]

no goals scored between the nets so far tonight. the teams will have a chat regarding what to do about that in their half time caves.

[hedgehog90]

Just switched on to see them all forlornly walking off the pitch.
Was there a terrorist attack?

[Spoon of Ploff]

for those who missed the first half the highlights have just been on

[Spoon of Ploff]

Just switched on to see them all forlornly walking off the pitch.
Was there a terrorist attack?

Why are you watching the football? You should be watching (spam).. The Twilight Zone has just started.

[DistressedArea]

Just switched on to see them all forlornly walking off the pitch.
Was there a terrorist attack?

No, they got called in for teatime. They'll be back after though.

[Spoon of Ploff]

someone has scored a goal shot with a head's on.

[DistressedArea]

Yuck.  Head goal.

Referees given France a big kick now.

[Spoon of Ploff]

France take the lead. Probably because of the unfair advantage the European Agricultural policy gives them.

[DistressedArea]

Yes, we have a goal. But do we have a goal?

What is a goal?  We cannot say. 

First we must ask, what does the goal believe itself to be?

Am I a goal?  Are you?

Where is the goal?

I say, non. Non, ce n'est pas un goal, c'est un gaol.

[DistressedArea]

Why do we kick?  It is not the ball who offends us, it is God.

[DistressedArea]

A man does not pass the ball, he passes himself.

[DistressedArea]

Is that...Henry's cat?

[hedgehog90]

oh my god they just killed a player

[DistressedArea]

He died from football. And is reborn as football.

Non?

[Spoon of Ploff]

it's getting a bit handy out there now

[hedgehog90]

Yes, we have a goal. But do we have a goal?

What is a goal?  We cannot say. 

First we must ask, what does the goal believe itself to be?

Am I a goal?  Are you?

Where is the goal?

I say, non. Non, ce n'est pas un goal, c'est un gaol.

https://soundcloud.com/hog90/ce-nest-pas-un-goal-cest-un-gaol

[DistressedArea]

it's getting a bit handy out there now

Handy?  It's called Footer mate.

[Spoon of Ploff]

France win. and will play Britain in the final should they win the match tomorrow against the Coats... another nation that didn't exist 10 years ago... so that should be a walk in.

[DistressedArea]

Fin.

[hedgehog90]

[DistressedArea]

https://soundcloud.com/hog90/ce-nest-pas-un-goal-cest-un-gaol

Beautiful. Just, beautiful.

[manticore]

I thought that soccerball match was moving enough, but just reading this last part of the thread has put me in tears.

Dieu bénisse le football! Come on Britain or Yugoslavia! May the best team win! (Sploff's going to hit me again now, but I am BRITISH and I believe in fair play for all peoples.)

[Hecate]

I have seen the silken-clad goalboys rollicking in their grassy realm, and I have seen the playful passing of their toe balloon.
Nature, play, the exuberant new hairstyle of a capricious young foreigner?

I am happy, but also sad to say that I am immune to the narcotic pull of both the foot, and the ball.

I am happy because I can observe my fellow (if perhaps more base) humans with a much deeper clarity.
Yet I am sad because I know that I will never personally experience that overwhelming, confusing release of tangled emotion that leads you, without a single scintilla of doubt, into punching a horse full in the face.

I'm wary of the boys siren dance, but moreso the desperate, masculine gravely grunting, the eerily synchronised guttural chanting of the pulled crowd.

These men who are drawn, the raptured, these drone workers, these oafish turds, these stinking coats stuffed with fuck, moving mindlessly like moths to a lightbulb, from building sites and beer-gardens, locked in a slow-treacle 5% per half litre tractor beam, staggering, zombified from pornhub to stadium.

I can picture coke-thin yet bloated, mind-sick advertising chiefs, heaving the very last remnants of their souls, willing with all of their might to drag that sea of "potentially linked to sentience" eyes just one 4k pixel up from "BALL" to the personified motorbyke that's riding along the boards, spuffing smoke from it's exhaust, spelling out the words "mcdonalds now delivers, you fat ... dead ... cunts .... gooooooooaaaaaal"

[Spoon of Ploff]

The assonance of a clever one-two in the pelanty area.
The dactyl of an upright ricochet.
The alliteration of a shot stopped by a goalie's (goalkeepers's) gloved hands.
The caesura in a disputed free kick
The denotation in a pundit's attempts to describe a slide rule pass
The denouement of a headed goal shot in the 95th minute of overtime
The epigram of a frustrated coach's asides to the fourth official
The hyperbole of the quadruple role and grasped ankle or forehead following the softest of tackles
The metonymy in the post game interview with the striker who done the shot wot won it
And every boot on ball released spondee

Compared to the poetry of footballs your words sound like an uncontrolled flow of rancid piss impacting on a crushed can on Tenant's Extra. An irritating cacophonous hiss.


Meanwhile British team players admit they don't want the world cup to end, even if they win the final. Football's never coming home, because it's already there... just coming.

[Huxleys Babkins]

Lovely pictures of the British players bonding at the training camp on the news this morning. Harvey Caine kicking a tramp to death whilst the other 22 are all gathered around him, solemnly humming the theme tune to Last of the Summer Wine.

Garth Southgate was, of course, looking down on them from his hot air balloon, nodding in approval.

I can't say for sure if the football will come home but if it doesn't it better have a bloody good excuse.

[hedgehog90]

The joy of a big kick.
The swing of the foot and leg, like a horse's leg, kicking the ball far away, preferably goal-wards.
The yell of the crowds, RAAAAAAWR do the gooooaaaal
The din, the absolute din of that noise of them yelling helpful advice and encouraging words to their favourite team.
The great pass or helpful header to an open teammate.
The calculated interception from an opposing player, taking the ball with his feet closer towards the opponent's goal.
The commentators with their fierce knowledge of the game (of football) describing every detail so we can focus our eyes on more important things,
Like the way the ball rolls smoothly on a nicely mown pitch,
Or a glint of light reflecting off the top of Alan Shearer's head.
Now he's winking, Alan's winking at me as if to say, 'well done lad, you've experienced a decent game of football'
Gary Linekar standing next to him, facing no-one, attempting to eat a large bag of smokey bacon crisps in secret.
The scores.
The goals.
The glory of football.
Forever and ever.
Amen.

[DistressedArea]

Super excited for the big match, anyone want to make any last minute predictions?

I think the score will be 6-1, and the half time drink will be ribena.

[manticore]

Prediction is an ego-function, trying to prove your cleverness in hunting the prey that is the soccerball future. I reckon FYI Yugoslavia will win by goals.

Game time. Leave that computer!

[Spoon of Ploff]

Its blacks v whites tonight. Britain are in White. Coats are in black with red socks. Of the 22 players on the pitch only one sports a stupid pony tail.

[DistressedArea]

Prediction is an ego-function, trying to prove your cleverness in hunting the prey that is the soccerball future. I reckon FYI Yugoslavia will win by goals.

Game time. Leave that computer!

Prediction already looking a bit silly after that amazing kick-off.