Atrophy. It's the one constant in this gray world, the return of dust to dust, of man to ground. Like millions before we thought to defy it, to declare that we would rise forever, the lone exception to the universe's accursed rule. But no; the muscles grow weak and the mind weary. Hope gives way to a resigned desperation. The Grim Reaper readies his scythe; our last remaining goal is only that others should step ahead of us in line and claim their place in his dark legion before the sun goes down, that we may spend another day surveying the abyss before we are consumed by it. Lineups! Saints: GK: A Man Drowning in a Sea of Unmarked Attackers, Grasping Desperately For Shots Too Numerous to Save. DEF: Aimless Midget; The Triumph of the Id Over the Rational Mind; Poor Amiable Bastard Who Should Have Left Already; Could Do to Smile Sometimes. MID: A Forlorn Hobo Miscast in the Role of Sporting Hero; Bad Hair; Bad Tattoos; No Hair. STR: A Small Child of Quavering Lip and Errant Finishing; A Bloated Reflection of Man's Capacity for Self-Destruction, of Wasted Youth and Promise, Bumbling Slowly About to Remind Us All of Our Worst Impulses. Leicester: A Jury of Eleven Men, Returning After A Deliberation of Just 90 Minutes With A Verdict of Not Good At Football. Predicted Score: Predicting such is too bleak even for this matchday thread. Gameday music:
If we win this, and we will not because everything is bleak and awful, I may have to go a step further...and the only thing I can think of that would be worse is if I recorded myself singing the bleak and awful matchday music.
Carabao Cup Round Four Tuesday, 27th November 2018 Leicester City v Southampton Referee:- ROGER EAST Assistant Referees: Harry Lennard & Derek Eaton Fourth Official: Graham Scott
We'll beat the Leicester reserves, and the Man City kids (one win, possibly both, coming on penalties). Big Sam will replace Hughes in between the QF and SFs, with Big Sam duly leading us to Wembley by beating the winner of Boro-Burton in the SF. Then Spurs will put six past us, as we watch Poch and Sam standing next each other, and wonder how on earth our club has gone from one to the other.
I was going but can’t now, but I am looking forward to my trip to Villa Park on Wednesday to see two former European Cup Winners play!
After the last two seasons, someone please give me a Leonard Cohen afterlife. So I can sigh eternally.
I was considering Cohen if I end up having to sing the matchday pump-up music, but there's an outside chance I can pull it off...my vocal register isn't too far from his, and a merely poor rendition of Hallelujah or something isn't bleak and awful, it's just unfortunate. Currently leaning toward Neutral Milk Hotel's Oh Comely, because it's sung in a nasally warble that I am quite certain I cannot match, and also it has the strangest lyrics ever committed to paper, because Jeff Mangum is a bit nuts.
