This first paragraph is a fluffer. It's meaningless. It's just a bunch of words that I'm writing so that the bulk of this blog, which is going to be laced in obscenities, does not end up on the front page. I'm all for freedom of speech, but not necessarily vulgarity. With all that aside and now that the text is a bit further down on the page, here's how I really feel about the West Ham game:
SHIT! I mean... SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT what the hell was that SHIT? I love Rafa to death, I really do. Why? Because he's proven that he can win. He can win the biggest competition that counts for clubs. But right now, he needs to put some asses on the bench.
Torres? You've produced SHIT for the past 5 matches as well as Kuyt. I don't care how much we're paying those guys; the goal is not in the 8th row. Go play rugby or sit your ass on the bench. Bring on Crouchie as a lone striker. That lanky bastard will at the very least accidentally bop one in per game.
Gerrard? Pretend you're Beckham for a while and don't take a shot unless it's a set piece. Carragher? The best defender in the world shouldn't be giving penalties with 10 seconds left in injury time.
We have the talent; they're just not being used right. Fires need to be lit under some asses as well. These big stars are too comfortable in this hole of mediocrity we've dug ourselves into. I think the team has a case of PLOM (poor little ol' me) disease. Poor little ol' me, I'm getting paid obscene amounts of money to play a game where the fans sing no matter how bad we suck. Poor little ol' me, I don't know who's going to be signing my checks next week. Get a freakin' grip.
I've heard reports that Rafa was seen walking around Anfield, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, mumbling something about changing the formation.
I might have made that last part up, but if I didn't--you heard it here first.