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Everytime I see Mclaren in post match interviews he gives me the impression of a whipped mutt, A man beaten to a husk. Dragging his carcass out of the kelly hoppen duvet every morning Only to service the fiscal burden of school fees, mortgages, investments, pensions, His wife's colonic treatments and all the normal bills that we all on here have to service every day in the 10 yards in front our faces 24/7. All Love for the beautiful game long gone. Event Horizon Misery.
I remember the picture of him the day he joined, i've seen happier faces outside Ilford public Toilets in valentines park where the clucking meatrack skagheads wait to jack off their punters in the Japanese knotweed on a romantic bed of mongrel dog shit, discarded low t cell count toxic condoms, bloodied needles and boxes containing mutant fried chicken.
Looking at his mush after the Swansea game he reminds me of a gone to seed high class Escort and Matriarch reduced to slumming it In a down at heel Plaistow brass house lamenting the bela lugosi apparition that stares back at herself in the mirror every morning.
Another day beckons sucking diseased flaccid dirty jailbird cock for a paltry ten spot note and breaking the seal of a new packet of kleenex, while in her minds eye she remembers the good times, as the concubine of royalty and fine dinning at The Wigmore club with obscenely rich venture capitalist's and Mp's who drink her salty piss from an erlenmeyer flask in return for a couple of grand in crisp £50 notes.
..As Mclaren rolls into training on this pisshole monday morning at this mausoleum of a club, he looks over at matt smith running about like he's got grandfather clock weights in his bollocks and Scowen showcasing the first touch of the yorkshire ripper with his claw hammer. Steve recalls the hand crafted Gnocci , the coarse salted red snapper and syracuse polenta in the fine Italian restaurants of Chester with giggsy, Scholsey, Stevie G and Rudd van fackin Nistelrooy.
Can't believe it's not working out.
[Post edited 1 Oct 2018 11:54]
Madness. Genius. Both.
"The opposite of love, after all, is not hate, but indifference."
Everytime I see Mclaren in post match interviews he gives me the impression of a whipped mutt, A man beaten to a husk. Dragging his carcass out of the kelly hoppen duvet every morning Only to service the fiscal burden of school fees, mortgages, investments, pensions, His wife's colonic treatments and all the normal bills that we all on here have to service every day in the 10 yards in front our faces 24/7. All Love for the beautiful game long gone. Event Horizon Misery.
I remember the picture of him the day he joined, i've seen happier faces outside Ilford public Toilets in valentines park where the clucking meatrack skagheads wait to jack off their punters in the Japanese knotweed on a romantic bed of mongrel dog shit, discarded low t cell count toxic condoms, bloodied needles and boxes containing mutant fried chicken.
Looking at his mush after the Swansea game he reminds me of a gone to seed high class Escort and Matriarch reduced to slumming it In a down at heel Plaistow brass house lamenting the bela lugosi apparition that stares back at herself in the mirror every morning.
Another day beckons sucking diseased flaccid dirty jailbird cock for a paltry ten spot note and breaking the seal of a new packet of kleenex, while in her minds eye she remembers the good times, as the concubine of royalty and fine dinning at The Wigmore club with obscenely rich venture capitalist's and Mp's who drink her salty piss from an erlenmeyer flask in return for a couple of grand in crisp £50 notes.
..As Mclaren rolls into training on this pisshole monday morning at this mausoleum of a club, he looks over at matt smith running about like he's got grandfather clock weights in his bollocks and Scowen showcasing the first touch of the yorkshire ripper with his claw hammer. Steve recalls the hand crafted Gnocci , the coarse salted red snapper and syracuse polenta in the fine Italian restaurants of Chester with giggsy, Scholsey, Stevie G and Rudd van fackin Nistelrooy.
Can't believe it's not working out.
[Post edited 1 Oct 2018 11:54]
Hey Glen, anybody told you, you have a way with words ?
Strong and stable my arse.
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Next QPR Manager on 18:35 - Mar 30 with 2387 views
Jim Magilton with John Sitton as his No 2 / enforcer.
Thought we played good football under Magilton and after Saturday (BOS aside), the thought of getting a good shoe'ing from the management team after another poor shift might be the motivation most of our lot need.
Everytime I see Mclaren in post match interviews he gives me the impression of a whipped mutt, A man beaten to a husk. Dragging his carcass out of the kelly hoppen duvet every morning Only to service the fiscal burden of school fees, mortgages, investments, pensions, His wife's colonic treatments and all the normal bills that we all on here have to service every day in the 10 yards in front our faces 24/7. All Love for the beautiful game long gone. Event Horizon Misery.
I remember the picture of him the day he joined, i've seen happier faces outside Ilford public Toilets in valentines park where the clucking meatrack skagheads wait to jack off their punters in the Japanese knotweed on a romantic bed of mongrel dog shit, discarded low t cell count toxic condoms, bloodied needles and boxes containing mutant fried chicken.
Looking at his mush after the Swansea game he reminds me of a gone to seed high class Escort and Matriarch reduced to slumming it In a down at heel Plaistow brass house lamenting the bela lugosi apparition that stares back at herself in the mirror every morning.
Another day beckons sucking diseased flaccid dirty jailbird cock for a paltry ten spot note and breaking the seal of a new packet of kleenex, while in her minds eye she remembers the good times, as the concubine of royalty and fine dinning at The Wigmore club with obscenely rich venture capitalist's and Mp's who drink her salty piss from an erlenmeyer flask in return for a couple of grand in crisp £50 notes.
..As Mclaren rolls into training on this pisshole monday morning at this mausoleum of a club, he looks over at matt smith running about like he's got grandfather clock weights in his bollocks and Scowen showcasing the first touch of the yorkshire ripper with his claw hammer. Steve recalls the hand crafted Gnocci , the coarse salted red snapper and syracuse polenta in the fine Italian restaurants of Chester with giggsy, Scholsey, Stevie G and Rudd van fackin Nistelrooy.
His enthusiasm may rub off on some of the youngsters and perhaps he can drum into them how proud they should feel to wear the shirt, like he did. And when given the opportunity, run through f*cking walls for the team even when your limbs are no longer connected to the rest of your body they way they should be, like he did.
Ainsworth is a good shout. At least he wouldn't be Steve McClaren. My other shout is Shaun Derry for much of the same reasons above, a leader who gave everything for the shirt. If that meant crippling your opponent in a late tackle, as long as it wasn't done for the wrong reasons....so be it.
Regardless what people think you can't change who they inherently are. A lazy player may pull their socks up occasionally but he always revert back. Ainsworth, Derry, Hill types give their all because that is their normal mindset. And it is getting even harder for a manager to instil a work ethic into a player when they can virtually retire after signing a single contract. Forget Ainsworth. I like him too much to become another bad memory. I'd like us to get Kenny Jacket and actually give him time. Personally think we'll be back here in 6-12 months discussing the same thing with the same names.
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