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1961...

When a satellite dish would have been mother lobbing a plate at you. When British meant British, and our clubs were not full of foreign players. When Spurs had proper supporters, not the modern day plastics of HiaG and Spunkcock. When real men played in the mud and not on snooker green pitches, when everyone could afford to go to a game, under the corrugated roofing and the craft beers were once Heineken piss in a can and you could smoke at a game. But the following glory years have been replaced with Billionaires who will bring the club nothing, other than a ground designed liked a toilet seat...

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1961...

When a satellite dish would have been mother lobbing a plate at you. When British meant British, and our clubs were not full of foreign players. When Spurs had proper supporters, not the modern day plastics of HiaG and Spunkcock. When real men played in the mud and not on snooker green pitches, when everyone could afford to go to a game, under the corrugated roofing and the craft beers were once Heineken piss in a can and you could smoke at a game. But the following glory years have been replaced with Billionaires who will bring the club nothing, other than a ground designed liked a toilet seat...

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Someone's still ****ed off about being mauled by the sheep shaggers :bandit:
 
<laugh>

Or Mamma Mia
Here we go again.


I have been deceived by you
since I do not remember when.
Well, I already made a decision,
this must end.
Look at me now, will
I ever learn?
I do not know how, but
suddenly I lose control.
There is a fire
inside my soul.
Just one look and I can
hear a bell ring.
One more look
and I forget everything.
Mamma mia,
here I go again.
My God,
how can I resist you?
Mamma mia,
do you notice again ...
my God, how much
have I missed you?
Yes, I have been
heartbroken ...
and sad since the day
we parted.
Why?
Why did I have to let you go?
Mamma mia, now I
really understand ...
my God, I could never
let you go.
I was angry and sad
about things you did.
I can not count all the times
I told you we finished.
And when you leave,
when you slam the door.
I think you know
you will not leave for long.
You know
I'm not that strong.
Just one look and I can
hear a bell ring.
One more look
and I forget everything.
Mamma mia,
here I go again.
My God,
how can I resist you?
Mamma mia,
do you notice again ...
my God, how much
have I missed you?
Yes, I have been
heartbroken ...
and sad since the day
we parted.
Why?
Why did I have to let you go?
Mamma mia, now I
really understand ...
my God, I could never
let you go.
Mamma mia,
here I go again.
My God,
how can I resist you?
Mamma mia,
do you notice again
My God, how much
have I missed you?


It;s a Spursy anthem.
 
Review: In Elvis land, Costello reigns as King

Review: Solo show reveals depth of talents.
By Jon Bream Star Tribune

JUNE 10, 2014 — 10:39AM

This may sound like blasphemy, but Elvis Costello has had a more consistently impressive career than Elvis Presley.

To be sure, Presley was more important and more influential, and he had a better voice, better hair and better looks. But Costello has been more adventurous, more multidimensional (he writes his own songs in various styles, something Presley didn’t do) and more concerned about artistry, quality and growth. Costello never made a clunker album — or a cheesy movie.

And Presley could not have done what Costello did Monday night in St. Paul at the O’Shaughnessy at St. Catherine University — perform solo for 2¼ hours, accompanying himself on guitar or piano.

Costello’s concert showcased the depth and breadth of his work and his influences
 
You gotta watch this all the way through, this guy takes the piss better than us lot out of HiaG...

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