So people that know me will tell you that I’m a great guy, always helpful and likes a caramello on Wednesday afternoons. I am also a huge football fan and like to spend a few hours on a Saturday afternoon having some good times in the local with my boy Rory.
It’s my favorite time of the week. I just fell out of bed 20mins before kick off on a Saturday afternoon and I go watch my lads perform their craft on high def tv. I partake in lively banter with my mates all the while sipping away at my quiet football pint. Its my idea of heaven folks.
Lately however this country has been taken over by the sunshine rugby “fan” bandwagon…it sickens me to see my country this way. In the good old days when rugby fans were like lepers myself and Rory would pick any pub at random and sit down and watch the magic of football unfold before our cartoonish twinkling eyes.
Now however, we have to strategically pick a pub that will be showing football while rugby is on…I mean come on local publicans. Myself, Rory and all the football broskis have put your kids through college. Last Saturday fagans had some random rugby muck on down in the cinema room with nobody watching it. I don’t mean “nobody” as in a few people. I mean nobody as in zero people!! All the while us potato licking simpleton football folk are relegated to gimpy fucked up uncomfortable seats while these sunny day bandwagon cunts live in the lap of luxury! Ohhhhhh it really hurts my balls!
This was all brought on by a discussion about rugby being broadcast on TG4. Off the ball were discussing whether it was a good thing that it was in Irish because the “fans” can’t have the rules explained to them! I shit you not!
I was waiting to unleash my fury on the rugby folk for a time when it would suit but there was a txt sent into that show tonight that had me shaking with rage…it made me want to eat my own face… Here we go…
“I’m a massive rugby fan and the fact that it is broadcast in Irish means I sometimes miss why a penalty was given”
Now if this person is a “massive” rugby fan surely he/she should be able to spot the foul (or what ever these cunts call it) through the magic of vision and the advent of a television. Kill me
This country is destroyed with dirty rugby bandwagoners that have no clue about the rules of the game yet somehow get involved in the Sexton/O’Gara debate and have pub broadcast priority even though nobody turns up unless the national team are playing. I would love to see these cunts name the team, I reckon I’d name more of them and I hate that cunt of a sport.
I have a few friends that are genuine rugby people that arnt complete cunts so perhaps there is hope…as long as they are confined to a dirty corner of a pub far away from myself and Rory.
Is that so much to ask?
Put that in your blog!