The G-Force (Istanpool 2005)

"even though i had to get up at 4am to make the flight to istanbul i didn't want to fall asleep -not even 24hours later. if i fell asleep someone might wake me up with the words 'hurry up alyson, you've gotta catch that flight to turkey' and it would all have been a dream."

such were the movin words of one supporter as she made the difficult trip to watch the final. well, i could give you 11 reasons why the liverpool win was the greatest in a cup final but i won't. i could quote you all the superlatives, suffixes, expletives and cliched metaphors that they've printed in english papers for the past five days but i won't. instead i'll give you reasons why God Almighty Himself was in the ataturk stadium last wednesday night.

for one, god came down and decided to park a polish bus in front of the liverpool goal at half time. and the name of that bus was jerzy dudek. this is not to be confused with another miracle of the lord, the late pope john paul II, the other polish keeper. bearin an uncanny resemblance to edward norton, it was like polish history x on the pitch, like liverpool fight club personified. nothin could go through them posts, god decreed. no point-blank headers from the ballon d'or winner nor penalties from top strikers of the world, yet at the other end xabi alonso could afford to miss and still rifle it in on the rebound. that grobbelaar wobbly-spaghetti-starfish-dance may have put off serginho, pirlo and my man shevchenko but just look at the milano faces when they took it -they knew they already lost anyway. look at the way sheva kicked the rejected ball to the roof of the net as soon as he missed. it was fatalistic resignation. one year ago he looked to the referee to blow the whistle as if he couldn't wait to get it done with to take the victory lap in front of the old lady fans. the papers confirmed this later -sheva said that it was "liverpool's destiny to win" that night. he never believed they could win after those stupendous six minutes in which the scousers netted THREE goals against one of, if not the, best defence in the world no matter how many grandkids you tell me maldini has.

the one who did believe was inevitably that man, steven gerrard. what can you say about steven-fuckin-gerrard? the man just didn't know how to lose. when michael howard was busy sayin "oh dear" at half time, the liverpool #8 actually came out at the breather sayin "we're gonna win 4-3". well he was wrong. but that deafenin red throng couldn't care less when he planted that header to spark the first flame. o by Our Lady there burned a fire in that boy which came not from mere human hearts! and as he woke up in the team hotel the mornin after with the cold metal still around his neck, he noticed that the cup was missin from his bed (talk about havin a trophy wife!) as someone had taken it somewhere else. he said "i felt like i lost a part of me". this was a man who was divinely inspired no doubt.

i contend that the scale of the comeback was just too supernatural for any earthly attribute you can attach to a team which was totally outclassed and outplayed so many times in the campaign. yet jamie carragher hurt his bollocks and was havin cramps all over but he made four big tackles right after. bear in mind that liverpool were four minutes from crashin out against olympiakos. bear in mind that liverpool somehow beat juventus and chelsea to have gotten to turkey in the first place. bear in mind that liverpool aren't even the fourth best team in england. bear in mind that liverpool were 100-1 to win at half-time.

so as the cup flew home to john lennon airport in seat 8E nestled between dudek and biscan, amidst the groans of bookmakers still payin out the 2million pounds lost that night, and every fair-weather fan was diggin up that forgotten red shirt, one has to wonder as simon barnes, chief sports correspondent in istanbul for the times did -

"...but then the tide turned in a manner which defied logical and even tactical sense. it was simply as if God had changed sides at half-time. the force, long absent, was suddenly with liverpool. why?"

liverpool FC, champions of europe 2005, the g-force was at work but was it gerrard or was it God?

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is impervious \im-PUR-vee-uhs\,

adjective:

1. Not admitting of entrance or passage through; impenetrable.

2. Not capable of being harmed or damaged.

3. Not capable of being affected.

"Like a case of Jules and Vincent when they survived the hand cannon, endless arguments will arise as to the supernatural occurences that happened that fateful night in Turkey. Even as a neutral observer, it is hard to believe why the engraver wasn't tempted at half-time to just do the Cup, or why the impervious rossoneri wouldn't go on to hit six goals, but as it were the three goals that came were delivered by the Liverpudlians instead."

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Impervious comes from Latin impervius, from in-, "not"+ pervius, "with a way through, hence penetrable," from per-, "through" + via, "way."

English Public Law & Pulp Fiction

1. Unlawful Subdelegation, Fettering of Discretion
"Hey my name is Paul and this shit is between y'all."
-English Dave the Bartender to Vincent Vega

2. Illegality, Irrationality & Procedural Impropriety, Judicial Review
"Look, just because I wouldn't give no man a foot massage, don't make it right for Marsellus to throw Antwan off a building into a glass-motherfuckin-house, fuckin' up the way the nigger talks."
-Jules Winfield to Vincent Vega

3. Stop & Search, PACE Acts
"It's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it and, if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's legal to carry it, which doesn't really matter 'cause -- get a load of this -- if the cops stop you, it's illegal for this to search you. Searching you is a right that the cops in Amsterdam don't have."
-Vincent Vega to Jules Winfield

4. Estoppel or Misleading Advice, Fettering of Discretion
"The truth, of course. Three well-dressed, slightly toasted Mexicans."
-Esmeralda Villalobos to Butch Coolidge

5. Human Rights Act 1998, Freedom from Torture & Inhuman or Degrading Treatment, Article 3
"Naw man... I'm pretty fuckin' far from okay."
-Marcellus Wallace to Butch Coolidge

6. Fairness & A Duty to Give Reasons, Legitimate Expectation
"This fucked up bitch is Marsellus Wallace's wife. Now if she fuckin' croaks on me, I'm a grease spot. But before he turns me into a bar soap, I'm gonna be forced to tell 'im about how you coulda saved her life, but instead you let her die on your front lawn."
-Vincent Vega to Lance

7. Proportionality, Wednesbury Unreasonableness
"A husband being protective of his wife is one thing. A husband almost killing another man for touching his wife's feet is something else."
-Mia Wallace to Vincent Vega

(all quotes written by that man, Quentin Tarantino, Pulp Fiction, Miramax 1994. a copy of this film is available here on video, for a promotional price of only GBP0.77 to loyal readers of this website. yes, i'm a shameless opportunist whore...but "i'm the foot-fuckin-master".)

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is incongruous \in-KONG-groo-us\,

adjective:
1. Lacking in harmony, compatibility, or appropriateness.
2. Inconsistent with reason, logic, or common sense.

"It is not uncommon for law students to produce outrageously incongruous work after many nights of taxing lucubration."

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Incongruous comes from Latin incongruus, from in-, "not"+ congruus, "agreeing, fit, suitable," from congruere, "to run together, to come together, to meet."

WOTW Annual

it's exactly a year since the wolf first laid paws on this site and produced the openin post. by and large, i never expected it to last because the site is non-interactive and i don't respond to comments. i also didn't expect to be alive still but apparently the Lord has different plans.

so three movin days and 60 odd posts later, the wolf is still sat here with the same trusty, mouldy keyboard, typin out random twisted thoughts to the waitin world. in my conceited incoherence, i take pride that i rarely succumb to writin about my personal life (which is pretty much more interestin than anythin i can write here!) and that i've managed to keep the site as a social news blog or a satirical commentary on popular culture at most. what pleases me most though, is that i've managed to write to entertain and not to impress, which is damned near impossible for someone as ostentatious as myself!

i thank you, my readers from the local county jail to Taman Tun Dr. Ismail, from Wangsamaju to Kalamazoo, from Washington D.C. to Kamunting Penitentiary, or any other piece of land you may be readin this from. somethin here must be interestin you lot (or do you come here every day just to learn a new word, helen the glam!) for it to be registerin 40 hits daily excludin mine. the celerity of life is more fleetin than that ray of winter sunshine and the six or seven minutes a day you spend here on The Way Of The Wolf make me feel as if i've not been the absolute father of all fuckups that i know i am. and yeah i do know i am.

so for this rather self-indulgent special occasion, say happy anniversary here and the first three to do so will actually receive a reply on whatever you ask about somethin scandalously obscure in a past entry!

ciao.

p/s this offer is not valid for singaporeans.
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Word Of The Wolf today is wayworn \WAY-worn\,

adjective:
Wearied by travelling

"He may have seen more than his share of life's inviting temptations and all of man's worldly promises but in the end the wayworn wolf returns to the den still."

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Wayworn is way (from Old English weg) + worn (from Old English werian).

The Visionary Wolf?

You Are a Visionary Soul

You are a curious person, always in a state of awareness. Connected to all things spiritual, you are very connect to your soul. You are wise and bright: able to reason and be reasonable. Occasionally, you get quite depressed and have dark feelings. You have great vision and can be very insightful. In fact, you are often profound in a way that surprises yourself. Visionary souls like you can be the best type of friend.You are intuitive, understanding, sympathetic, and a good healer. Souls you are most compatible with: Old Soul and Peacemaker Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

ah, not too bad though i wanted Prophet Soul or Old Soul. me, the visionary soul. phwoar... sounds like the dude outta A Beautiful Mind. or some dude who's gonna prophecise the second comin of Christ! well, at least i didn't get a shitty soul like mike's Retrospective Soul or somethin totally whack like Dreaming Soul.

ciao.
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Word Of The Wolf today is ameliorate \uh-MEEL-yuh-rayt\,

transitive verb:

To make better; to improve.

intransitive verb:

To grow better.

"Is there any chance in the world that the ties of men of different faith can be ameliorated?"

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Ameliorate is derived from Latin ad + meliorare, "to make better," from melior, "better."

Andy, Sam & Chris

i find it extremely ARTIFICIAL, PRETENTIOUS and VAIN that people lie about their names.

1. givin yourself an entirely new name
first, i wish to exonerate the entertainment industry for stage names that actors or singers have. not everyone is lucky enough to have entirely pronounceable birth names and the entertainment industry is about gettin noticed. Norma Jean Baker just had to be Marilyn Monroe unless demure country bumpkin hicks can be international sex icons. secondly i wish to also exonerate the chinese community worldwide who have christian names strictly for the efficacy of business. there can be no fault in havin a name which facilitates better dealin in business, as this is a matter of livelihood. thirdly i wish to exculpate people who have genuinely given tags (someone else named them so and it stuck). however i've bones to pick with glamour hunters. i've a relative who names herself after the heroine in every new film she watches. she was ariel after the little mermaid and she was rachael after she saw Friends. and to all the janices, carrins, caryns, carmens, williams, alans, johnnys and jessicas out there who have nothin to do with those names by virtue of baptism by priests nor christenin by friends, i laugh secretly when you make me call you lot that.

2. shortenin your name to make it sound more glorious/sexy/acceptable
may i present you the "folly trinity" -andy, sam and chris who are in actual fact, muniandy, samivellu and krishnamoorthi. wtf! these are real names printed on the business cards of indian plumbers and gardeners who came to my house. though there might be a socio-economic reason which would acquit them of the charge, we'll never know. what's next? Sal Nash, the lesser known cousin of Kevin Nash who really is Salleh bin Nashraf the used-car salesman? or a local gangland henchman notoriously named Lou Bad who's actually just Kamalouddeen Abdul Badawi?

3. pronouncin your name differently to achieve false distinction
ahhh how could i forget my sweet negri romantic interest, "Megan". especially since i found out after a bit that her name was really Lxx May Gun (name protected since she's real and i don't wanna offend her). imagine the many men out there who were fooled by lushious-soundin names advertised by certain girls like Lim Choo Lek (Juliet Lim), Tan Pek Kah (Becca Tan), and Lee Ka Man (Carmen). seriously girls, it's histerically funny.

we also have a rare breed of people who insist on people sayin their name as KON-STAH-NCE if you called them Constance. or maybe DEE-YAH-NA when it really is just Diana. from my own experience, these are just people who discovered their names sounded more glamourous with a different accent so they just adopted it at a certain age. if an american girl with no italian lineage tells you her name is FRAN-CHES-KAH, it's really just FRAN-SESS-KA (Francesca) tryin hard to sound exotic. if a chinese bloke tells you his name is FAH-BEE-OHN, and he and his parents don't know fuck all about the french, he's just Fabian. enough said.

before i go, i just wanna say that the coolest names are the ones given to you because they actually do tell a story. nahajo indians who have names like One Stab, Three Eagles or Dancing Wolf are absolutely fabulous. early christians who believed a name should explain a birth or expectation thereof didn't do badly with names like Nicholas (victory for the people), Earl (Old English eorl "nobleman, warrior") or John (derived from Hebrew meanin "Yahweh is gracious"). it's also very real to have street names that tell a story, e.g. Fat Tony (the simpsons), Boris The Blade (snatch), or Barry The Baptist (lot, stock & two smoking barrels) so long as you didn't give yourself that name. in fact, the more unflatterin a nickname is, the likelier it is that there's a good story behind it. this is why i think my mate should just accept Bob The Blob as his name.

remember, it is better to be hated for who you are than to be loved for who you are not.

ciao.

p/s those plannin to attack me about my name, i won't reply because a) this site ain't a forum and b) it was given to me, so sod off.

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Word Of The Wolf today is extemporaneous \ek-stem-puh-RAY-nee-us\,

adjective:
1. Composed, performed, or uttered on the spur of the moment, or without previous study; unpremeditated; impromptu.
2. Prepared beforehand but delivered without notes or text.
3. Skilled at or given to extemporaneous speech.
4. Provided, made, or put to use as an expedient; makeshift.

"In this modern age of over-planned parenting, it was nice to see Jack and his wife cuddling their newborn daughter, thinking of a good name when a bee appeared suddenly and stung the attending nurse, thereupon prompting them to extemporaneously name her Melissa, meaning bee in Greek".

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Extemporaneous comes from Late Latin extemporaneus, from Latin ex tempore, "out of time," therefore "immediately, at the very time the occasion arises." It is related to temporary, "lasting for a limited time"; contemporary, "belonging to the same time" (con-, "with, together"); and tempo, "the rate or degree of movement in time."

But I Wanted Smeagol

i even tried changin a few answers but i still got the man! thought i would get norman bates or jack the ripper for sure. even freddy krueger wouldda been alright, but i guess i don't kill little kids no matter how fascinated i am with knives and blades. joanne was tommy devito (the mouthy gangsta from goodfellas) and i wouldn't have half minded that either. marina got the cool agent smith from the matrix trilogy. it sucks to be a loser villain like jack torrence.

but the description sounds fair i guess. smeagol wouldda been best though. who did you get? leave a note will you.

ciao, my preciousssssss...

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Word Of The Wolf today is cosset \KOSS-it\,

transitive verb:
To treat as a pet; to treat with excessive indulgence; to pamper.

"After years of being cossetted and cared for in captivity, the young pups were released into the wild but they did not survive. The ways of the wolf cannot be taught by man, apparently."

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Cosset comes from the noun cosset, "a pet lamb."

7 Things That Sting

1. burnin your bollocks with cigarette ash
when i sit on the toilet doin the mornin purge and there's no ashtray, it's natural to just ash it into the toilet. sometimes though, a lapse in concentration will result in a most unpleasant sensation -when you brush the fag accidentally against your scrotum. think of the sound of how a cigarette extinguishes itself on a wet surface. hear that crisp sizzlin? that's the sound of hot ash against one of the most sensitive parts of the male anatomy. if i were a painter, it would be a picture of millions of tadpoles screamin behind the hot wall of a burnin house.

2. 3% national swing from Labour to Conservative
of the already pathetic-though-improved 61.3% turnout, 35.2% voted labour. examinin this chart, one has to wonder if the requisite composition rule for mandate should be revised. how can a party with 35.2% of 61.3% total existin votes form a government? it effectively means more than a third of the people couldn't be arsed to vote, and of those who DID, only a third wanted labour. i could be wrong about this. the thing is, these stats can hurt even me, a foreign student, so what would the english citizen feel? it's your birthright mate, do somethin!

3. missin a penalty
just had to say it again i'm sorry. right there at the heart.

4. livin in barking, london
i have a friend whose brother lives in barking. i've been there only once and that's already one time too many. accordin to some report i vaguely remember it is the constituency with the highest number or percentage of BNP (british national party for you lot foreign to the uk) voters in the country i think. this fella livin there is already sufferin from a multitude of problems rangin from poor exam results, stress, anxiety, loneliness, isolation and financial instability to perceived manic depression and a problem with makin friends. now he's spent two years already in the worst place i can think of for a person with his problems. one lonely, shy chink with no friends in a place with a 5000-strong legion of BNP supporters is a surefire recipe for doom. last i heard, he's on the verge of breakin down.

5. wasabi
truly the wolf's kryptonite, down to the colour even. in my time, i've eaten some evil things but nothin comes close to the foulness of this japanese abomination. each time i'm at a sushi bar, i would look at the wasabi jar from a distance and say in a solemnly ominous manner, "there is evil there that does not sleep". i'm acquirin the taste for parmesan and i'm tryin to defeat all the remainin minions of anti-christ formaggio mel seems to bring home each time he goes back to sicily. i've defeated the oriental demon translated as "smelly beancurd", a native of hong kong. and yes, the name is there for a damned good reason. i've defeated so many evils but i just have no answer for wasabi. just a whiff of that crazy shit and i faint. smear some wasabi on a naked, sex-starved halley berry and i would leave her well alone. as kryptonite is to superman and sulphur is to snakes, so apparently is wasabi to wolves.

6. fallin from a dangerous height without bendin your knees
the male g-spot will hurt like a mother. believe me.

7. tattooin your armpit
this is purportedly the most painful part to do a tattoo on, beatin the penis and nipples even. i have no experience but this is what i read. no, really...i really have no experience. i swear i just read it...

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is claque \KLACK\,

noun:
1. A group hired to applaud at a performance.
2. A group of fawning admirers.

"I find many similarities between the street claque in The Emperor's New Clothes and the nodding yes-men at an established artist's painting."

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Claque comes from French, from claquer, "to clap," ultimately of imitative origin.

The Twilight Years

in boxin, they say any given person has only a certain number of fights in him.

as i have just returned from a rare evenin out, i must say i'm quite happy to have watched the rather badly-edited million dollar baby. i'm also glad that a childhood friend came all the way from luton to visit the den of the wolf.

still it does fuck all to soothe the pain of an old beaten dog.

i missed a penalty that knocked us out of the final of a minor competition i won two years ago with a different team. i sent it hard and fast to the keeper's top right but he knew. the man just saw it comin. i didn't know what i did wrong. when the dust settled and the floodlights went, it occurred to me that maybe i didn't do anythin wrong after all. maybe i just ain't got it anymore.

i like to think of myself as a pretty accomplished player. the beautiful game had given me so much in the past ten years. sometimes i remember it all as if it were yesterday i bought those ugly reebok boots. when i first saw steve mcmanaman in euro96 shimmyin past them dutch plonkers and how i would run to my garden and try to do the same with the motionless road skittles i nicked (and was almost arrested for). when i would take the same shot over and over again with my left because i couldn't cross with it and how the neighbour was most unhappy when i did succeed in liftin it high above the fence. when i would clean my boots religiously like they were made from my own skin as leather. when i would go to bed and dribble in my sleep and dream of puttin an overheard volley past peter schmeichel.

somewhere in that boyish eagerness, i got good. i had a violent shot with my right and an exquisite curl with my left (because i was hittin it wrong). i could head the ball harder than most players could kick it. people say that the best thing i had was that i could run like the wind. i sometimes think i break the sound barrier each time they i go down that right flank. i used to be able to pin 100m in 11secs tops but the most wonderful thing i had was actually heart. i was 52kg of pure heart. i had enough heart in me give two hundred heart transplants. in the 93rd minute i'd be runnin as if we're gonna score three more before the whistle when we're already down 2-0 and by mother mary i believed it. once we were down 3-0 at the breather in a match and i put four past the keeper in the second half. i never once believed in that match we would lose. sometimes when i did lose hope even my team-mates wouldn't let me. bob would pass the ball to me in defence and say "zee, take this now and score." and i almost always did or burst a lung tryin.

fast forward to the present, and all that heart just comes second to charcoal lungs and creaky joints. i can't run 40yards without lookin like i just had seven orgasms. demonio #7 was not only to mark my shirt but the number of minutes i could last before bein subbed. one might say it's just a fitness problem but that's just bein kind. you don't need fitness to play that 30yard ball accurately. you don't need fitness to plant the header beyond the keeper's reach. and most of all, you don't need fitness to score a penalty.

for a wolf who once played over four shadows under stadium floodlights, those glorious days seem more and more distant each time i play a stray pass. i feel like the chinese paul gascoigne. each time i underhit a ball, it hurts me twice as much knowin how i used to hit it. and each time i overhit a ball, it hurts me twice again knowin how i used to have that velvet touch.

as patrick said to me last night in an attempt to console, "sometimes i can see glimpses... a touch here and there." well mate, i see glimpses too. a flash of sublimeness here and there maybe. but everythin else in between i see just shadows.

oh where is my nan when i need her. i ain't got no more fights left in me, really.

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is celerity \suh-LAIR-uh-tee\,

noun:
Rapidity of motion or action; quickness; swiftness.

"In the celerity of ageing, many athletes are not allowed to forget that the day they are past their prime is unceremoniously sooner than they think they know."

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Celerity is from Latin celeritas, from celer, "swift." It is related to accelerate.

7 Events In The Week That Was

1. 2005 UK General Elections
the day is here. by virtue of a breakfast show with the irresistable(!) melinda messenger, i was directed to this site for a laugh. so for you fence-sitters, get in there. however, this site is very inaccurate because the issues carry no weights therefore the results are only indicative and not conclusive. for example, you may agree with labour on all the minor issues such as fox-huntin, cannabis reclassification and EU status but you are angry over the war, that would still put you as labour though you would never vote for them. still, at least it gives an idea about what the issues are.

2. AC Milan v Liverpool
a man can dream, can he not? too long have i waited for this. too long. hyypia should wave it at maurinho's face if he lifts it. then again, despite bein a fan, if the red half of merseyside DOES win it, the champions league's fourth berth should go to everton. they deserve it really. and how better to go down in the history books than the team who wasn't allowed to defend the european cup?

3. Doctor Henrik Larsson
this is a joke. really.

4. Google Adsense
come on fellas. USD47 more to go to see if the money is real. keep clickin! if you like what i write, this is the best way to thank me. who knows there might be somethin there you'd like?

5. Shaun Murphy
first ginger world champion? 22 year old, fat as fuck and beat ebdon, davis and higgins. this link also has a video feed of the nail-bitin 22nd frame, if you missed it. wonderful stuff. on another note, ronnie's exit if true does the sport no favours. the brightest flames burn the quickest no doubt. snooker has lost its shine. meanwhile its pretenders, like mr ginger here, is marryin his bitch come summer with a new merc from the 250grand he pocketed. 150-1 to win it at the start of the 17days. can you believe it? a fuckin surprise this is. come on jimmy, stop pissin it away and get back into the groove to whip the young ones!

6. Amir Khan v Mario Kindelan
there will be blood. and it ain't gonna be kindelan's. these young upstarts...

7. The Michael Jackson trial
in the face of overwhelmin evidence even, the defence has filed for mis-trial. the king of pop must now pray to the king of heaven, if you asked me.

ciao.
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Word Of The Wolf today is traduce \truh-DOOS; -DYOOS\,

transitive verb:

To expose to contempt or shame by means of false statements or misrepresentation; to represent as blamable; to vilify.

"Some punters note that the way Mr. Blair has been arguably traduced by Michael Howard especially may strangely win him some votes instead, amidst the wake of the attack on his personal character."

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Traduce derives from Latin traducere, "to lead across, to lead along, to display, to expose to ridicule," from trans-, "across, over"+ ducere, "to lead."
Synonyms: Calumniate; vilify; defame; slander.

Chinese Can't Play Football

in the interests of brevity, this entry will not cover the numerous downfalls of the chinese dynasty nor any of the opium-smokin, daughter-wagerin habits we are so infamously attributed with.

to those who are objective and brutal enough to accept it -chinese can't play football.

sure we have a coupla sun jihais and hao haidongs at the highest level but there is somethin really, really ugly and hateful about the way chinese people play football at a non-professional level. whether the man in question is a mainlander proper, a hong kong chink, a malaysian chink (like me) or any other chink derivative who ever held a bowl of fuckin rice, nothin nice can be said about the quality of football we generally display.

perhaps it's because we aren't blessed with a footballin brain like europeans nor the technical gifts of nippy asians. as such, the game always becomes a wrestlin competition or worse, a field for chinese pride to manifest itself with every other player threatenin to call his "gang" when perceived to be unfairly tackled.

on saturday i went to warwick to play football for sheffield's chinese society as they ain't got enough men. it was called the warwick hong kong society football tournament. it sucked like the vacuum lips of a hungry whore. in every game, there were never more than five passes strung consecutively. 80% of play is done in midfield playin head tennis with the football. the remainin 20% is spent chasin loose balls due to inept and stray passes. worst still, in about every four seconds or so, you get to witness a player hackin the legs of another. fuckin chop, slice, hammer and debone like in an abattoir. fuckin butchery. everyone was bleedin bleedin. the beautiful game was reduced to a WWII amputational clinic camp. this was truly the case when you see them walk off the pitch at the whistle. bandaged, plastered and with blood gushin out from each part of the anatomy, as they hobbled along to find their missin limbs. then you'd hear the customary cry of the correspondin soldier's girlfriend,

"wahhh.. alan ah... hou MAN ahhh..."

this is translated as "wow alan, you are so macho". i can really cry when i hear this.

needless to say, i will never play football in an entirely chinese-participated tournament again. ever. not even after the piece of flesh on my arse has grown back after the tackles.


and one last thing, CHISOC can SOC my COC.

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is obloquy \OB-luh-kwee\,

noun:

1. Strongly condemnatory or abusive language or utterance.
2. The condition of disgrace suffered as a result of public blame, abuse, or condemnation; ill repute.

"Dismiss this entry as hateful obliquy if you will but you do so in grave omission for it speaks a truth nobody wants to hear."

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Obloquy derives from Latin obloqui, "to speak against," from ob-, "against" + loqui, "to speak."