måndag 22 april 2013

mot Celtic - På motståndarnas modersmål

Menisken IF - Gothenburg Celtic FC 0-2

We wis doon oan Heden playin fitba, when the Doctor, naturally him being responsible fir the team ethics an aw that, screamed oan top oaf his fuckin lungs: F**ta! an gets the red caird, the cunt. Shamefully he walks oaf the pitch. The wee Celtic lads standin smookin oan the sidelines didnae understand shite. Askin us whae jist happened.
Ah said cunt, says Doc, ye cannae say that an fitba or ye gets thae red caird.
Fuck, even ah never hud the red caird fir sayin anything, says Calle P whae once got the red caird fir kicking doon oan a trash can by the sidelines.
So now wir doon tae ten against eleven n they huv tougher cunts oan the sides. Smokin n drinking, well, something.
Menisken whae hud almost aw oaf the first fahkin period, now's up against some hard fuckin competition. Even Pontan whae got really doon when he saw that the other team wir warmin up by smoking, realizing that he wasnae the toughest cunt on Heden coming here oan his motorcycle n aw still fights oan oot there. Some oaf us re also nae fit and well trained, n Doc hud his nice goal not being okayed by the ref. before he said f**ta, so wir nae overly optimistic.

Before aw this there's some oother shite been gauing oan too. First the referee didnae show up so we hud tae borrow a high-class ref whae jist did a fitba match before oors. Also thir wis lassies playin oan the pitch before us so we hud tae wait before we like could warm-up proper. Then the game began n as ah said we ooned it at first but now it felt a wee bit like it hud aw gone doon the drain. Ten playirs isnae much and ah didnae think that Sven showing up in tweed like some fakhin english lord got them oot a balance either.

Even so, the team really fights it.
N nae bad if yir askin mae. Wir killing thae game oot their. Playing them like they nivir bin played before. Haulding thae ball, passing it n shite.
Still oaf course the Celtics gets thir chances now n then, up tae the point where they fuckin score. 0-1.
A nice shot oan a half-volley impossible tae take fir our goalkeepir.
He was flyin through the air but coudnae dae anythin but wave at the ball.
The cunt oaf a ball didnae even wave back.

Eftir the halftime we coulnae have tried more fir an equalizer than we, wee cunts did.
Mattias, played like nae auld cunt, ah ken tell you that. He was the player oaf the game if ye ask me. Shite, we had at least a couple oaf gid chances, thein n thir.
Lidas almoast daein a goal aw by humself, runnin like a fakhin cunt aw across the pitch fae the defense tae thir penalty-shootin area jist tae loose the ball to some fuckin Celtic playir whein he gets their.
Still they eftir a lot oaf strugglein managed tae score anothir goal. 0-2. Them cunts.
That wasnae enough fir us though n we bit in till the very last minute.
Couldnae be helped though so we lost.
Went home with lowered heids but, in a wey, wi high sperits.
Us cunts.

Maj10

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