Classic rants...........

[BlackHaddock]

In Nov 2009 a chap called Poojah wrote this: we still went down!

Dear Players of Grimsby Town FC

I am writing with regard to my absolute astonishment and disbelief as to the sheer magnitude of your complete lack of talent and failure to carry out the job for which you are paid to do. I am not aware of any swear word or other derogatory phrase in my current vocabulary which comes close to a description of your ‘performance’ (and I use that term loosely) this afternoon, but let me just say that you have collectively reached a level of inadequacy and ineptitude that neither I nor modern science had previously considered possible.

In fact I recall a time, in my youth, when I decided to call in sick at work and instead spent the entire day in my one bedroom flat wearing nothing but my underpants, eating toast and wánking furiously over second-rate Scandinavian porn. Yet somehow, I still managed to contribute more to my employer in that one Andrex-filled day than you complete bunch of toss-baskets have contributed to this club in your entire time here.

I would genuinely like to know how you pathetic little píssflaps sleep at night, knowing full well that you have taken my money and that of several thousand others and delivered precisely fúck all in return. I run a business myself, and I believe I could take any 4,000 of my customers at random; burn down their houses, impregnate their wives and then dismember their children before systematically sending them back in the post, limb-by-limb, and still ensure a level of customer satisfaction which exceeds that which I have experienced at Blundell Park at any time so far this season.

You are a total disgrace, not only to your profession, not only to the human race, but to nature itself. This may sound like an exaggeration, but believe me when I say that I have passed kidney stones which have brought me a greater level of pleasure and entertainment than watching each of you worthless excuses for professional footballers attempt to play a game you are clearly incapable of playing, week-in, week-out.

I considered, for a second, that I was perhaps being a little too harsh. But then I recalled that I have blindly given you all the benefit of the doubt for too long now. Yes, for too long you have failed to earn the air you’ve been breathing by offering any kind of tangible quality either as footballers or as people in general. As such, I feel it’s only fair that your supply runs out forthwith.

I trust, at this precise moment in time, that Mr Fenty is in his office tapping away on the Easyjet web site booking you all one-way flights to Zurich, complete with an overnight stay with our cheese eating friends at Dignitas. Don’t bother packing your toothbrush – you won’t need it.

In the event that our beloved chairman can’t afford the expense (understandable given that he’s soon going to have to assemble a new squad from scratch), then I am prepared to sell my family (including my unborn child) to a dubious consortium of Middle Eastern businessmen in order to pay for the flights. Christ, I’ll drive you there myself, one-by one, without sleep, if I have to.

Failing that, understanding that most dubious Middle Eastern businessmen are tied-up purchasing Premier League football clubs, I ask you to please take matters into your hands. Use your imagination, guys – strangle yourselves or cover yourself in tinfoil and take a fork to a nearby plug socket, or something. Just put yourselves and us fans out of our collective misery.

So, in summary, you pack of repugnant, sputum-filled, invertebrate bástards; leave this club now and don’t you fúcking dare look back. You’ve consistently demonstrated less passion and desire than can commonly be found within the contents of a sloth’s scrótum, so frankly you can just all fúck off – don’t pass go, don’t collect your wages, don’t ever come back to this town again.

I look forward to you serving me at my local McDonald’s drive-thru in the near future.

Yours sincerely


A very disillusioned Mariner

I just love reading it, sorry if you've all seen it before, but it was a heartfelt rant when we were at a very low ebb.

 

[BlackHaddock]

Anyone got a copy of that Sheff Utd fans rant about players names?

 

[Vanni]

''You've consistently demonstrated less passion and desire than can commonly be found within the contents of a sloth’s scrótum" has always been my favourite bit of that rant. Fantastic

 

[BlackHaddock]

Same guy once it was obvious we were down:

Now I’m as optimistic as anyone when it comes to this twát of a football club, but after this afternoon’s latest capitulation it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee – we’re fúcked. Down. Goners. Non-league. To be honest I didn’t know how it would affect me, it’s not like it hasn’t been coming, but tonight I just feel absolutely deflated. Absolutely fúcking devastated.

I can’t get away from these emotions, I just want the whole world to just fúck off and leave me alone. To help me come to terms with this whole mess, I’ve decided to compile a list of everyone and everything I want to fúck off most of all.

For starters, work can fúck off. If they think I’m going to be there on Monday morning they’ve got another thing coming. No way am I going in to spend time dealing with cúnts that I can barely stand being with when I’m in a good mood, let alone this crushing feeling of anger, frustration and outright metaphorical-kicked-in-the-bóllocks-ness.

Plastic Premier League fans can fúck off. I just spoke to my Manchester United supporting neighbour (who incidentally, has been to Old Trafford before – twice) about Town’s predicament. You know what he said? “I know how you feel; it’s like when we failed to win a trophy in ‘95”. NO IT FÚCKING WELL IS NOT!

He no longer has a face.

The girlfriend can definitely fúck off. Her best attempt at consolation – “I don’t know why you’re bothered; you knew they were shít anyway”. Yes love, but they’re MY shít team. They’ve been MINE for pretty much as long as I’ve been able to wipe my own árse, and they’ll be MINE for as long as I’m alive (or at least, until I’m no longer able to wipe my own árse). Truth is, watching my team win does things for me that no woman can. If push comes to shove and I’m horny, I can always have a wánk.

Barrow can fúck off. I’ve been all over the country and beyond to watch my team, but frankly I just don’t have the stomach to visit any town which makes Scunthorpe look like fúcking St. Tropez.

Dad, you can fúck off. This is your fault. Your idea. You introduced me to this shower of shít. “Come with me to Blundell Park”, you said, “Come and support the boys”. What could I do? I was fúcking four, what choice did I have? Why not get me hooked on Heroin whilst you were at it? I could have gone with mum shopping for bras and knickers at British Home Stores, but no, you knew best.

Granted, I’d have probably grown up a homosexual but surely even being simultaneously búggered two guys named Seth and Quentin couldn’t hurt like this.

Seeing as we’re on the subject of homosexuality, Gok Wan can fúck off. No particular reason, I just plain don’t like the annoying, goggle-eyed c***.

The F.A. can fúck off. Not for supplying us, week-in, week- out, with inept referee after inept referee, but for imposing sensible financial rules on all clubs in League Two. How many clubs in this division have been into administration this season? Not one. How many points deducted? Not one. How the fúck else are we supposed to avoid relegation – footballing merit? We didn’t have to last season, so why spoil the fun now?

The World Cup can fúck off – I don’t care anymore.

My local pizza shop can fúck off. I ordered a 12” Pepperoni over an hour ago, and where the fúck is it? Are they trying to fúcking fly it to me or something?

Sky Sports can fúck off. Nothing personal, but there’ll be little need for me next season with no Town to be found anywhere. Ooh, Bolton versus Wolves, LIVE. I think I’ll pass...

The radio can fúck off. On my way home from the match, whilst driving down the M180, I caught three completely separate stations playing ‘Down’ by Jay Sean at the exact same fúcking time. The song’s the best part of a year old, how the fúck does that happen by coincidence!?

My nan’s old lucky Buddha that used to sit in her front room can fúck off. When I was a kid I held it in my hands and wished for Town to be in the Premier League. I meant the proper one you fat c***, not the one occupied by Histon, Eastbourne and for fúck’s sake, Ebbsfleet, wherever that is.

Tonight can fúck off. I’ve had enough of trying to cope with my emotions; the time has come for oblivion. I haven’t kept any booze in the house since an occasion known only as ‘That Night’ by myself and the missus, but suffice to say that the toilet duck and luminous blue mouthwash are looking like stronger propositions by the minute.

Most of all though, the last 10 years can fúck off. In that time I’ve watched my team fall from the top of the Championship into non-league nothingness. We’ve gone from one great big fúck up to the next without even coming up for air, and today is just the big, fúck off cherry on top.

One thing I’m sure of though is that we WILL be back. When it comes down to it, a football club is basically just a set of supporters, and frankly what I’ve learned in the last few years is that this one has some of the best. We’ve had to put up with some shít, haven’t we boys, but in spite of all of that the future is still bright – it’s fúcking black and white.

Grimsby ‘til I die...

 

[Trapdoor]

invertebrate bástards; leave this club now and don’t you fúcking dare look back. You’ve consistently demonstrated less passion and desire than can commonly be found within the contents of a sloth’s scrótum, so frankly you can just all fúck off – don’t pass go, don’t collect your wages, don’t ever come back to this town again.

The accents really make this.

 

[Richard Cranium]

Remember reading that at the time, Also remember feeling the same 2 years earlier. That rant the England and Charlton fan did at the Iceland game was a good one.

The 'He no longer has a face' line in the second rant always gets me.

 

[joethegill]

Granted, I’d have probably grown up a homosexual but surely even being simultaneously búggered two guys named Seth and Quentin couldn’t hurt like this.

Incredible scenes

 

[AdamStag]

The girlfriend can definitely fúck off. Her best attempt at consolation – “I don’t know why you’re bothered; you knew they were shít anyway”. Yes love, but they’re MY shít team. They’ve been MINE for pretty much as long as I’ve been able to wipe my own árse, and they’ll be MINE for as long as I’m alive (or at least, until I’m no longer able to wipe my own árse). Truth is, watching my team win does things for me that no woman can. If push comes to shove and I’m horny, I can always have a wánk.

that made me chuckle

 

[Chief Rocka]

From the old Rivals network back in the day from a Sheff Wed fan getting to grips with life as a League 1 fan (Division 2 old money) quoted it cos it's a biggie.

Dear Supporters of Division Two..

...Up yours!

And I mean that sincerely from the bottom of my heart.

Why?

Well, therein lies a story, poppet.

I came across this board a few days before the opening day trip to Swindon. I was curious to know what my fellow Wednesdayites were thinking prior to what was generally felt to be a humbling but potentially rewarding endeavour.

There was a genuine excitement about the coming months. A chance to get back to our roots, so to speak. New grounds, new opponents, and even dare we think it a new Wednesday, reborn from the ashes of seven years of misery. A chance for those that didn�t have �golden deadwood� contracts to prosper and show what it meant to play for this club.

Scratch that. This BIG club. But we�ll get to that later.

We knew that there would also be problems, naturally. Our presence in this league would give rise to the odd petty jealousy, though we figured that after the initial small town euphoria of sad teenagers from grim seaside villages or utterly charmless new towns wore-off, things would get back to normal and people would realise that us Owls are a pragmatic bunch who knew that this would be no cake walk. That initial impotent rage against the fallen �big boys� had to dissipate, surely. Schadenfreude is only ever a fleeting phenomenon after all.

We didn�t have any argument that I was aware of with any team in this league, bar the odd local tiff or two. Many among us were keen to extend the hand of friendship to our fellow football folk. (To a certain extent this has even been the case, I enjoyed the friendly trips to Peterborough and Wycombe immensely - and on further thought, the polite and pleasant supporters of these two clubs can exclude themselves from this rant).

As an example, I and many other Owls were keen to foster goodwill with Hartlepool given the sudden rash of links between our clubs and the vagaries of the fixture computer. I wanted them to do well and I looked forward to having a good time against them both at our place and theirs.

They were just one of many clubs I looked forward to playing as equals for the first time.

But the schadenfreude wasn�t fleeting. It became more jealous, bitter and hate-filled as time went by. Supporters of many different clubs decided to invite themselves by for a quick biscuit and a big �Fuck you� to the Wednesdayites. Every day (try every hour) saw a new hero arise from Colchester or Plymouth or Grimsby or (with depressing regularity) Hartlepool to uphold the �honour� of this division against these invading, unwelcome spoilt hordes.

�Arrogant!�

�Fancy-Dans!�

�You think you�ll walk this division�!

�Ha! You drew/lost! Not so arrogant now are you?�

Etcetera, et-bloody-cetera.

Never mind the truth, which was that no-one in the Wednesday realm, aside from a couple of young kids who should know better, had said anything to justify any such belief. The truth is of no import when there�s fun to be had making baseless claims about people.

The first couple of weeks it was understandable. We�re now ten weeks in and the phenomenon shows no sign of abating any time soon. New allegations and accusers line up every day.

It gets rather difficult to keep the strained smile on your face as you patiently explain once again to one�s accuser that no, we don�t believe we�ll �walk it� and yes, we know it�ll be hard in this division. It�s pointless mentioning the fact most Owls are painfully aware of the respect due this league, as the accuser has already buggered off somewhere else pleased as punch at upholding the honour of the little guy.

Yeah. Whatever.

So cobblers to the lot of you. I�m tired of playing nice with people who have obviously pre-judged me to my detriment.

But that can�t be it, surely, I hear you ask? That cannot be the sole reason for such an invective filled rant?

You want another reason why? You want the reason that finally broke both the camel�s back and my strained tolerance?

Fine, I�ll give you a reason why. I�ll be generous and give you 6,464 reasons why.

For now this week we face possibly the funniest excuse for a cheap pop at the �big club� so far. The Wednesday, apparently, are hate-filled and arrogant, not just for singing the light-hearted banter of �You�ve Only Come To See The Wednesday� at Bournemouth, but also for DARING to defend ourselves and assume that the midweek 8,000+ sellout that constituted their biggest home crowd of the season (copyright EVERY CLUB WE VISIT THIS SEASON), may, whisper it, have been boosted purely because it was the Wednesday they were playing.

�How dare you!� screamed the massed ranks of outraged Bournemouth fans. �You dare imply that some of the home crowd were drawn to the game for any reason other than to see the mighty Red Army? Why you arrogant...�

6,464.

Bournemouth�s crowd last Saturday Vs. Rushden.

Sometimes you just get tired of fighting and defending yourself to people who don�t want to listen.

The truth in this division is simple: Tell the truth or tell a lie. It matters not, as long as the Wednesday are wrong.

So, to my fellow Wednesdayites I say this:

Fuck �em. We tried to play nice. Now it has become apparent that we will always be in the wrong during our brief stay in this wasteland. So I�m through even trying.

So get out your �Wednesday: Champions 03/04� T-shirts and wear them with pride. Welcome the boys on to the pitch with a chorus of �Bring On The Champions�. Sing �Come To See The Wednesday� and �Shit Ground, No Fans�, not as knock-around banter but as the loud and proud true statements of FACT they so clearly are.

Waste not any opportunity to remind these piddling little time-wasters that we are a big club and that is what hurts them most. Do not flinch or retreat into pious appeasement, be proud and defiant. We are bigger than anyone else here (or the league above for that matter). Don�t fear the truth.

And to all the other supporters of Division Two clubs, I say this:

Fuck you all. It may take a while, but soon, children, soon The Wednesday will hit their stride and then we will put right this un-natural aberration. We will sweep you all aside.

WE WILL WIN THIS LEAGUE.

Not Cardiff, not play-offs, not by luck or chance.

We will dominate and ultimately destroy every wretched, tatty little excuse for a club that dares to stand in our way. And we will do so with greater style and class and in larger numbers, than your stunted, small-town mentalities could ever conceive.

Why?

Because it is our RIGHT.

Because it is our DESTINY.

And if I weren�t such a raging atheist, I would state categorically that it is because GOD WANTS IT THAT WAY.

(Hell, we�ll even win your LDV Vans thingy, just to show that we do care, honest).

You will be dazzled by our footballing prowess and you will be awed and humbled by our support. You will be pathetically grateful for the gate money our visits will bring you and you will shut the fuck up while we do it.

Meanwhile, we will do this all with the minimum of fuss and effort, because at the end of the day, winning this league (indeed, arrogantly �walking it�, if you will) is just not all that much of an achievement.

Because you and your pointless little clubs, in your soulless, squalid little hovels, mean NOTHING to us. You are beneath us and its about goddamn time you were all forcefully reminded of that fact.

Get back in your place and stay there.

Fuck you all.

Goodnight.

They finished in 16th and didn't win the LDV Vans thingy

 

[joethegill]

From the old Rivals network back in the day from a Sheff Wed fan getting to grips with life as a League 1 fan (Division 2 old money) quoted it cos it's a biggie.



They finished in 16th and didn't win the LDV Vans thingy

Is it wrong that I kind of see his point?

 

[Laker]

This one was from a QPR fan several years ago. Always made me chuckle:


I take more pleasure in seeing Chelsea lose than I do in seeing QPR win at the moment.

I sat through so many matches when we were absolute dogs**t under the likes of Ray Harford and with people like Paul Bruce, Matthew Brazier and Mark Perry in the squad and I never felt like this.

The club isn't ours anymore but more so than that - football is just properly gash these days.

I mean really gash.

football generally.

I hate nearly everything about it these days....

I hate the Prem and the myth that it is exciting this year. Man City breaking into the top four isn't exciting. They spent loads of money. It's no more exciting that Nameless C*** getting to number 1 in the charts after winning the X-Factor.

I hate the myth of Arsene's kids. Buying some French kid when he's 17, playing him in the League Cup and then selling him when he's 20 after about 3 appearances in the league is NOTHING SPECIAL.

I hate hearing about Liverpool/Man Utd's debt but nothing ever happening about it. A club needs to go to the wall for the money thing to change but it doesn't happen. Why the **** are Charlton, Leeds and Southampton still in business?

I hate Frank Lampard's stupid f'ing face. I hate that Joe Cole's tongue is never in his mouth, the downsy spacker. I hate John Terry being England captain when he's CLEARLY AN OAF.

I hate the England team.

I hate young exciting wingers who have nothing but pace. Tony Scully had nothing but pace.

I hate the FA Cup. There may be little shocks like last night but for the most part you know who's going to win it. Unless a team throws away all their financial security to win it a la Pompey.

I hate Harry f'ing Redknapp. And Jamie Redknapp. And Louise Redknapp. And the Wii.

I hate James Nesbitt, Eammon Holmes and f***ing everyone.

I hate Gary Lineker and Alan Shearer.

I hate Garth Crooks.

I hate Garth Brooks for that matter.

I hate Sky Sports.

I hate that when a lower league player beats 10 players and chips the keeper it doesn't matter but if Rooney scores from more than 20 yards it's amazing.

I hate that everything football related has to have 'Club Foot' playing behind it.

I hate that female sports journos are now mandatory.

I hate Mark Lawrensen for not coming out. 'I do like a big man at the back'. I bet you do.

I hate any advert that portrays football to be about anything other than pain and disappointment.

I hate any advert that mentions pies at football.

I hate Lee Hughes and the fact that he makes a living from the game. I hate Marlon King and any team that signs him when he gets out. I hate that it'll probably be us.

I hate Phil Brown.

I hate 'well the ball is a lot lighter now and will cause goalkeepers real problems this summer' before EVERY F'ING TOURNAMENT.

I hate that Kieron Dyer earned more in the time I took to write this post than I'll earn this month.

I hate Adrian Durham, Ian Wright and Alan Brazil.

I hate Gazza. Either die or shut up. Stop f'ing lingering.

I hate hearing about Hillsborough more than I hear about Heysel or Bradford.

I hate that a comeback from 4-0 down at half time (TWICE) means nothing because we aren't f'ing scouse.

I hate Leeds.

I hate Roy Keane.

I hate grown men wearing football shirts of their team whilst shopping on a saturday when their team is playing at home.

I hate that I don't hate Roy Hodgson.

I hate Jermaine Beckford and any player who has neck tattoos.

I hate songs being inappropriately taken as club anthems and then sung in a manly way. 'I'm forever blowing bubbles....'. Gaylords.

I hate Danny Dyer and anyone he's ever interviewed.

I hate the book 'Cass' by Cass Pennant. It is honestly the stupidest thing I've ever read. Chapter 1: Millwall. 'Yeah we took 50 to Millwall. They had 1000 in their mob but we ran 'em up and down the street'. Chapter 2: Liverpool. 'Yeah we took 50 to Liverpool. They had 2000 in their mob but we ran 'em up and down the street'. Fk me... Jade Goody's autobiography is probably better. Even her non-ghost written one.

I hate that all good youngsters end their careers at Spurs before they start.