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Posts Tagged ‘Mexico’

Microsoft Paint Stories Of The Week – Big Sam’s Masterplan

Posted by eddiev18 on October 29, 2009

Big Sam: Piggy Tactics

If you follow the Premier League (or Barclays Premier League if you’re being anal, EPL if you’re American, and Premiership if you’re Alan Hansen), you may have heard the news that ‘Big Sam’ Allardyce had one or two problems with his squad last week, prior to their humiliating 5-0 defeat at Chelsea. I know what you’re thinking and, no, it actually didn’t involve El Hadj Diouf. No, in fact, last week the main problem facing the Rovers boss was dun dun duuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnn – swine flu!

Yes, swine flu. The killer virus that the Sun predicted would kill us all and result in flesh eating pigs rising up to rule planet Earth (or something along those lines. If i’m honest, I got distracted by Page 3 and didn’t properly read it). Now, as shocking as it may sound to Sky Sports News, whose little yellow ticker jumped with excitment upon hearing the story coming out of the Lancashire club, footballers really are humans after all. And humans, judging by the events of the past 12 months or so, really can contract pig flu. Big news undoubtedly.

The question that should’ve been on everyone’s lips though, and thankfully was on the lips of us over at Eddie’s Football Blog, was ‘how did swine flu suddenly spring up in the Blackburn camp?’. Once again we sent our reporter to investigate.

This time calling on our vast knowledge of time travel (acquired by watching the ‘Back To The Furture’ trilogy a couple of times), we used a Delorian, a few flashy wires, a radio alarm clock, and a shouty old man with beady eyes (who we found outside Sainsburys talking to a bin) to send our man back to last Friday night, the day before Blackburn’s game with Chelsea. Here’s what he discovered.

MSPaintStoryOfThe Week_bigSam

The pictoral evidence is conclusive. Sam Allardyce had planned it all along. He would make sure that his entire squad were so ill, that the Premier League would have no choice but to cancel their game with Chelsea. Just like his tactics, the beauty of this plan was in its simplicity and, with their six goal whalloping by Arsenal still fresh in the memory, the Blackburn gaffer couldn’t risk morale being damaged by yet another humiliating defeat.

So on Thursday he got to work, sending his chief scout to Mexico and tasking him with the job of finding finding the ‘filthiest most disease-infected pig in the country’. After a brief mis-understanding which led to a holidaying Katie Price being bundled into a potato sack, Big Sam’s scout tracked down a pig farm so filthy that even Jermain Defoe would have turned his nose up at it. Nonetheless, ‘Pablito’ the pig was adquired, promptly dressed up as Paul Robinson (as not to raise suspicion, but also to explain his hearty appetite), and then plonked on a plane bound for London.

Meeting his new oinky accomplice at Heathrow on Friday (the day before the game), Big Sam had it all planned out. He would wait until all the players were asleep at the hotel, and then take Pablito from bed to bed, infecting each player with a solitary lick to the face. By morning they would all be far too ill to play, and the game would be cancelled. It was fool-proof. He even practiced with Pablito in the afternoon, sticking pictures of every Blackburn player on the end of a Nobbly Bobbly ice lolly. The training was such a success that even the El Hadj Diouf lolly got a lick.

Come nightfall, clad in his maroon satin PJs, Big Sam was ready. This was going to work.

Now, you’ll see in the picture that the players appear to be sharing a room. Why though? Well, Rovers chairman John Williams, a man so careful at watching his pennies that Pascal Chimbonda can be counted as one of his major summer signings, wanted it that way. When he was told of the price of each room at the fancy Chelsea Village hotel, he exclaimed (presumably in a northern accent, whilst sipping a warm pint of mead) “It’s a bloody outrage! They can all bloody well share!”. And so they bloody well did (the fact that this arrangement conveniently facilitates this particular version of events is just one big coincidence. Honest.).

Anyway, the image captures a crucial moment in our tale. Having sucessfully infected David Dunn with the virus, Big Sam moves confidently onto his second victim – ogre and part-time battering ram, Christopher Samba. Pablito, although clearly hesitant of the potential volcanic reaction caused by waking a sleeping beast of this magnitude, overcomes his fear and manages to infect his second victim. Big Sam rubs his hands in glee. His plan is definitely going to work.

Then all of a sudden there’s a beeping noise, a flick of a lightswitch, and the sound of hesitant and confused Norwegian voice. “Er… boss? Er… what are you doing down there boss?”. Big Sam looks up to see a perplexed Morten Gamst Pedersen standing over him. Shit. He’s been rumbled.

You see, in the melee of ordering a disease-infected Mexican pig, dressing it up like Paul Robinson, and then hatching a masterplan to sneak around under the cover of darkness infecting his entire squad, Big Sam Allardyce forgot one crucial fact. A fact that condemned his masterplan to failure from the minute it was hatched… Morten Gamst Pedersen checks his hair in the mirror every 15 minutes. Without fail. At night he even sets his alarm clock to go off every quarter of an hour to wake him up. Just to be sure.

Poor old Big Sam. Blackburn now would have to play their game against the league leaders for sure. He’d only infected two players with swine flu and, to rub salt in the wound, those two players were his best midfielder and his best defender/striker/battering ram. In fact he’d even picked the bug up himself, after Pablito mistook him for a Nobbly Bobbly.

Unsurprisingly it finished 5-0 to Chelsea. The word on the street is that Big Sam has a new masterplan up his sleeve for when he recovers. It involves a pair of clippers, a Norwegian, and has to be completed in under 15 minutes.


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Microsoft Paint Stories Of The Week – Harry Redknapp

Posted by eddiev18 on October 5, 2009

Redknapp: T'riffic bet for the chop

Redknapp: T'riffic bet for the chop

In this week’s unerringly irreverent and complicatedly far fetched take on a story from the last seven days in the world of football, we look at old Twitcher ‘imself – ‘Appy ‘Arry.

Two things. Firstly, I promise that the next ‘episode’ will not be another Spurs-based adventure into the depths of my imagination (I’m sorry but this story was too good not to feature). Secondly, I promise that not every word beginning with ‘H’ will be abbreviated as if the ‘Droopy’ lookalike was writing this himself. Most will though.

Anyway, if you are a betting man you would’ve noticed some strange goings on last week. As all football fans know, the annual ‘Managerial Sack Race’ this season ‘as been firmly between ‘Yougottafeelsorryforhim’ Pompey manager Paul Hart, and Sam Allardyce prodigé (and bluetooth headset afficionado) Phil Brown of ‘ull City.

For the benefit of those reading this article (mainly my girlfriend) who are now trying to picture two grown men at a charity sports day ‘opping along in an old potato sack, I’m sorry to ruin the wonderful image you’ve mustered up there, but i’m talking more along the lines of P45 forms.

That being the case then, Paddy Power bookmakers were mystified last week as, due to a sudden increase in the amount of punters backing ‘arry Redknapp to be the first managerial casualty in the Premier League, they found themselves slashing ‘is odds for the chop. People still kept on throwing their money at the bet though, so much so that by lunchtime on Friday all bets were off. Old droopy chops had leapt ahead of ‘art and Brown, and was starting to think of the egg and spoon race at 3pm.

Why all the money on old Redders though?

Well, the gossip-hounds on the internet suddenly all became experts on Friday, claiming to know all about it. With screennames like ‘LoverLover6969’, they queued up to spread the juicy gossip they had undoubtedly just got from the man himself. They cited tax reasons. The Inland Revenue were onto Sandra’s Swiss Bank account, they claimed. A rambler in the Himalayas had perhaps found one of ‘arry’s brown paper bags of Romanian notes from the Florin Raducioiu deal, ‘idden in a yeti’s cave. Then they ‘revealed’ that the police and all the associated press were all on their way to White Hart Lane, where Redknapp was to be cuffed and jailed.

Blimey. With such trustworthy experts on the pulse of the story, what would ‘appen next? What would the Tottenham manager do? In an exclusive to Eddie’s Football Blog, the story of the week is seen in a new light below.


As you can see, where ‘arrison Ford has gone before ‘im, ‘Arry has gone on the run from the law. He’s done well too, and despite his conspicious choice of vehicle (the yellow Robin Reliant that he lent to the set of Only Fools And Horses all those years ago), he has made it over the Atlantic to the States.

Unfortunately for old Twitcher though, Darren Bent and Lord Triesman are ‘ot on his ‘eels. Both men want to bring our hero to justice – Triesman on a mission to rid the world of corruption (in football), and Bent seeking vengeance for his wife (Redknapp’s wife that is, and the comment he made about her being a better striker than the Sunderland ‘itman). They will stop at nothing.

You’ll see that the image captures a crucial moment. The Robin Reliant ‘as chirped its last breath of fuel only miles from the Mexican border, with salvation (and perhaps another opportunity to keep Giovani Dos Santos on the bench, as Mexican national team coach) within reach.

With Triesman and Bent gaining on him, ‘arry has no option but to pull out the trump card (from the boot) – man mountain Tom ‘uddlestone, who simply lifts the three wheeler off the ground and dashes (ok, slowly ambles, the concept of Thudd ‘dashing’ anywhere is just silly) for the border.

Will ‘arry make it? Will Triesman stamp out corruption in football? Will Darren Bent wear headphones in his next television interview? Will Tom Huddlestone find the McDonalds in Mexico City?

Comments below!

If you want to get involved and do your own Microsoft Paint Story Of The Week, then draw it in Paint, and send it to me at eddiesfootballblog@hotmail.co.uk. If it is funny it doesn’t matter how crap the drawing is (the crapper the better actually!), and it will make it on the site! No Photoshop! 🙂

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The (English) Commentator’s Curse

Posted by eddiev18 on September 6, 2009

Lawrenson. Dick.

Lawrenson. Dick.

“We’re the best in the world! We’ve beaten England 2-1 at football! This is truuuuly incredible! We’ve beaten England, England the fighters’ birthplace: Lord Nelson, Lord Beaverbrook, Sir Winston Churchill, Sir Anthony Eden, Clement Attlee, Henry Cooper, Lady Diana – we’ve beaten you all. Maggie Thatcher, can you hear me? Maggie Thatcher, I have a message for you in the middle of your campaign… Maggie Thatcher, as you say in your language in the boxing bars around Madison Square Garden: Your boys took a hell of a beating!”Bjørge Lillelien (Norwegian commentator), Norway vs England, World Cup Qualifier 1981.

Ok, so there’s that, and then there’s:

“What a hit. Take a bow son”Andy Gray, Sky Sports co-commentator, after every goal scored from outside the penalty box.

And there in lies the problem, English football commentary has decayed. Gone are the days of Stuart Hall eulogising about ‘a match of titanic proportions about to take place at the colusseum’ with ‘the gladatorial figure of Owen’ looking to slay the Italian beast, when simply tasked with introducing an England vs Italy game. Nowadays you are most likely to hear some washed up ex-pro using a co-commentator’s job to try to showpiece his knowledge of the game, in a desperate attempt to convince viewers that he knows what he’s talking about. Trouble is Warren Barton, we don’t care, and we don’t want to hear you. As for an article I recently read, claiming that Mark Lawrenson was John Motson’s ‘funny side-kick’. No. Stop it. Never write that.

It also annoys me that when Sky Sports commentators are talked about, the first name that comes to everyone’s mind is Gray, who is always the co-commentator. In my mind, the reason for this is that the guys actually doing the commentating aren’t the personalities they should be. The lack of eccentric, enthusiastic shouty-blokes is evident. The closest we get to eccentric is John Motson, but he is slowly losing his marbles, and has essentially become a parody of himself. Stuart Hall is another eccentric, and also wonderfully descriptive, but has been criminally under-used by the BBC.

As for shouty-blokes, it’s a crime that Jonathan Pearce decided to ditch the radio for television. Pearce had to dumb himself down for TV, and it’s only the viewer/listener’s loss. I used to love muting the TV and tuning into Capital Gold on the radio, to hear the over-exciteable Pearce screaming with excitment when England got a throw-in in a promising position. His goal celebrations weren’t bad either… “and there was Teddy, ever so steady, and he’ll celebrate tonight with a glass of sherry!” I like that. You don’t get much rhyming anymore, and it’s certainly better than “get in there you beauty”, which could be mustered by any old drunk in the pub.

I understand that the English way is to be more reserved, with the occasional hint of sarcasm for humour. I have time for that too. For example, Motson proclaiming that England’s 5-1 win in Munich was their ‘best result against the Germans since the war’ was fantastic. However, when it’s 0-0, England v Uzbekistan, on a damp Saturday afternoon in November, the commentator has to take some form of resposability for whipping up the atmosphere. You can be damn certain that the 30,000 ‘corporate spectators’ at Wembley won’t be creating it. Turning to Joe Royale to ask ‘So Joe, after 30 minutes, have you seen any evidence of threat from this Uzbeki team?’ is not interesting, and his response is undoubtedly going to be about as exciting as watching Gordon Brown tweeze the grey hairs out of his nostril.

The reason for this rant? Jealousy. The source of this jealousy? I have just watched the following clip of yesterday’s Mexico vs Costa Rica game. I want what Mexico have.

Get rid of Martin Tyler, and get me a shouty Spanish bloke. Problem solved.

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