Choose Thorney...

Choose Uncle Peter. Choose a football club. Choose a career. Choose a family club. Choose a f**king big hotel on the side of the ground, choose fancy resturants, cars, i-pods and dodgy electronic scoreboards. Choose good fitness, low skill, and no win assurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments on The Jarrold Stand. Choose a Carra Rud. Choose your celebrity fans. Choose tacky leisurewear and branded luggage. Choose a piece of s**t on free transfer in a range of f**king outfield positions. Choose FONCY and wondering when the f**k they will produce again. Choose sitting on that plastic seat watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing home and away games, stuffing Delia's pies into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing our last parachute payment up the wall and realise that we have nothing more than an embarrassment of selfish, f**ked up players Worthington spawned to replace the decent ones. Choose your future. Choose Uncle Peter... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose Uncle Peter . I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got Super Chrissy Martin?

Posted By: Brandonio, Apr 1, 12:58:08