We Are Going To Moscow

The adrenalin is still pumping after experiencing another magical European night at Old Trafford, a night which is sure of a special place in the history of this great club. The crowd was immense and the atmosphere electric. I am fucking proud the way we performed.The wonder goal by Scholesy, the tireless running by Nani, Park and Tevez, the resilience of Evra, Brown and Hargreaves and the fantastic leadership by Rio. We have done everyone proud ,from the spirits of the Busby Babes, George Best , Sir Matt Busby and every other person who is connected to this great club of ours. Manchester United , I love you more than anything i have ever loved. I write this with tears in my eyes and pride in my heart, go ahead and win the cup for us !

We Shall Not Be Moved !

Memoirs Of An Old Friend

I met this very old friend from school,this evening. He was a good lad but wierdly i dont really remember much about him, though one very funny incident came back to me.

I think it was the 6th standard, when we were about 12-13, this old friend of mine liked this girl. He was a bit of a tard and we were just kids. He came up with a sure-fire plan that could not go wrong for him. He ended up proposing to her on one-knee in the middle of the football ground, with a fake plastic ring you get free with Poppins, and asked her if she would do him the honor of making him complete. She laughed in his face, everyone else laughed, he ran away to the toilet and someone stole his pokemon cards.

Momentary Respite And Tom Hanks

It was a wonderful day yesterday, i am freed of the ghastly chains of JEE and United tore the Gooners a new arsehole. Owen Hargreaves - I fucking love you, sir.

I had just one day, to nurse the hangover of the very eventful day previously,and warm myself in the embers of freedom before i get my head down to start my AIEEE preparations.I thought of giving myself a treat and took out the "Forrest Gump" DVD from the now scarcely touched video library in my room. It was battling with the other half of me which wanted to see "The Other Boleyn Girl" in the nearest theater, but i guess my laziness triumphed over my desire of seeing Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson on the same screen. I have always loved those two and i have always loved period films but i just couldnt inspire myself to move out of the house.

In the end i think i made a good choice. I couldnt believe i had the DVD for so long and could not be arsed to watch it. Honestly, I've never felt that emotion for a good few years, I was getting worried that I might have been transformed into a robot devoid of any emotion. It was the part when Forest started to break down talking to Jenny's grave and I must admit it brought a tear to my eye , not many films have done that ! The only movie i remember Tom Hanks was better was probably "The Green Mile".

Later on,I was a bit annoyed that i wet myself over a movie . Fucking Hell !

A Nocturnal Tryst With Halliday

IITJEE is just a mere 48 hours away and I havnt slept a wink since day before yesterday. I feel knackered, weak and hopeless.Its 8 in the morning and keeping awake is a struggle, but i know i have to go on. Giving up is not an option and never will be.However, my eyes feel heavy and they rebel against my wishes to study further. Alphabets appear as a collective blur of dancing neon lights and the warm cozy bed is as tempting as Salma Hayek in "Desperado". I have studied a mere 15 days for an exam which people fail to crack after 2 whole years but Miracles do happen.

I am off to bed.

Confessions Of An Eccentric Loner

I am amongst those silent brooding guys that middle aged women frown at, marking us down as a "potential rapists". So its needless to say that I am not exactly the type of person you would come upto and start talking about the weather. I very well know of the fact that people find me intimidating and I like to play along with the myth and project a very serious face which is supposed to convey that "if you come anywhere near me, i will abduct you and then torture you with corkscrews." Not that i am a mushy bastard who writes poetry in his free time, but i am pretty much normal like everyone, almost. Though,I admit to having bouts of eccentricity wherin i enjoy getting rid of all my bodily sensations and accessories, but let me warn you of the fact that it isnt a pretty sight and that it has the potential to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Over the past year i have learnt that the thing i treasure the most in my life is privacy and i hate it when people attempt to rob me off it, though i have an immense arsenal of explecitives that i employ and use with distinction , telling them exactly what i want them to do. I have not turned antisocial all of a sudden,but i enjoy the peace and quiet. I have lots of friends but its just that i am too lazy to call them regularly and this has pissed quite a few who in turn have labelled me with various uncomplimentary names as an "Insensitive Prick". My brother is so outgoing that he makes Paris Hilton look like a nun and he is constantly telling me to "go get a life." But i guess staying at home and spending sometime with myself feels as good as anything.I think i am done with my days of being a wildchild.

I guess, this is what they mean when they talk of growing up.

The Fall And Fall Of The Italian Football League

I was going through a few articles and blogs that day and came across quite a few Italian fans/pundits who still feel that their league is the best. Honestly speaking as an English football loyalist, Italian football was superior, miles ahead of England in the nineties during the days of Baggio, Maldini, Baresi,Costacurta,Del Piero and Dino Baggio .Most Italian Second Division teams could give the top Premier League teams a run for thier money, and top Italian teams would dominate Europe.

All that seems a distant memory with the huge money poured into the English game reading to the rise of the influx of foreign talent . The flair players of Latin America did not think England were worthy of their talents, and in that respect they were a distant third behind Italy and Spain and hence the talent pool of continents like South America and Africa were completely isolated from the english leagues. The tactical know how was severly limited and this owed to their uselessness in the European Cup.Though all that has changed ten years on, with English clubs doing so well in Europe, and murdering Italian clubs in their own backyard.

Italian fans may not agree with me, but Italian football has been in a state of slow and steady decline. With the off-field controveries, lack of funds and poor attendence in games taking a toll on the Italians. The biggest mistake they have done is that they have resisted the commercialisation of their club and their league , proud feckers that they are this has done them more harm than good. Lack of funds equal to lack of quality, and surely the standard is dipping. Attendances in grounds have fallen drastically with some midtable games having a mere 8 to 10 thousand spectators. Also, the Italians prided themselves of never playing for any other league except thier own !Cannavaro,Zambrotta, Luca Toni, Lucarelli and Grosso among are some players who are playing in other leagues and i think that the Seria A has long lost its charm. Italian Football fanatics all over the world wait for another renaissance in the Italian shores, but its more in hope than expectation.

Facebook

After conciously staying away from the much talked about website, Facebook ,i finally decided to take a plunge and see for myself what all the hype was about. I have spent a good three days on Facebook before writing this , and very bluntly putting it ,i think Facebook is the gayest thing to come out since Men's thongs.

From what i gathered, the website is designed for mindless bimbos, desperate single men and sluts. There are no proper discussions in the communities to speak off, and there is this annoying function which enables people to know every godammed thing that you are doing in there. Some of the applications are downright stupid and i fail to understand the purpose of most. I mean, who the fuck wants to know "If you were a drink, what drink would you be ? " or "What colour is your heart." There are lots of annoying features, which make the whole thing so much more cumbersom and the design is pathetic.

In a way , its a great tool for "Show Offs" and i prefer the subtleties of Orkut, which in my opinion is a much better way to keep in touch with old friends with thousand times less baggage and complications .Facebook is so much more voyeurism and its a perfect website for people who have loads of spare time on their hands and narcissists who fancy themselves in a big way.

I dont like it one bit.

United Away Fans Take A Bow !

After all the nonsense that happened last year and this , it was awfully brave of the United fans to make the trip to Rome.Italy has always had law and order problems with regards to football clubs and supporters , with the likes of Lazio (Nazio) and Roma heading the pack.The stabbing of 18 United supporters, the police brutalities coupled with stabbing of Leeds, Boro and Liverpool fans over the past few years in Rome have raised concerns with hooliganism rearing its ugly head time and again.

However what warmed my heart was the fact that a mere 4,000 Mancs outsung the 60 odd thousand fascist barbarians at the Stadio Olimpico."Glory Glory Manutd" resonated all around the stadium as the shellshocked Italians didnt know what hit them. It was one of those awesome European nights and I wish i could get drunk .Its illegal for anyone to be this happy.

Viva Ronaldo,
Viva Ronaldo,
Running down the wing,
Hear United Sing,
Viva Ronaldo.

Che Guevara - A 17 Year Old's Perception.

The first encounter i had with Che was when i was 11. There was this big bully in our building who more often than not , wore a Red T-Shirt of a long hair, unshaven man staring out at eternity. Just like the bully i percieved Guevara to be evil who beat up innocent kids when he was bored.However, for some or the other reason he stopped wearing that T-shirt and Che was gradually rubbed off my mind.

Three years later, i met this girl in a party. She was fairly attractive and wore a White "Che" T-shirt. Old memories came flooding back and i asked the girl who this particular man was . "Dunno,dude. Some Rockstar,maybe. He looks kool, doesnt he ?" Was the reply that i got and i thought the girl was trying to act funny. I didnt pursue the topic.Two years later when i became active on orkut, the famous pictures of Guevara showed up again in many display pictures all over the website. Thats when i thought that i have had enough and that i had to know about this man.

The initial research confirmed my belief that this man was indeed remarkable.The more and more i read about him, the deeper my admiration grew. Riding around the whole of Latin America on a bike, his involvment in the Social Revolution in Guetamala under Guzman,the stupendous overthrowing of Batista in Cuba, his brilliant military tactics, his fearless attitude towards death and his tireless efforts in Congo. Remarkable is an understatement for this man.

He was never blessed with a strong army boasting huge numbers and relied mainly on terrain, intelligence and guerilla warfare. Another very important facet of his personality is that he never gave up. In Congo, Guevara was sorrounded by all sides and his army consisted of a paltry sum of 100 soldiers. He very well knew that it was a matter of time that we would be defeated and probably killed, but he did not desert the principles in which he had believed all his life. Yankees and their pals can call him a "Mindless Commie" and "Murderer" and this is as ironic as it gets. You dont have a revolution with handshakes, hugs and kisses least of all when you have America on the other side of the table.

He is an icon, loved and remembered my millions of people across the globe and deserves to go down in history as an extraordinary visionary, a fearless warrior, an astute tactician and a constant pain up the backside for the strongest country in the world.

"The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall." - Che Ernesto Guevara.

Weird Dreams

I one used to have a recurring dream of me being chased around this supermarket by a man who was about 8 or 9 foot tall, and he was chasing me with an oversized drawing pin, And I used to hide and he always used to find me, and took a swipe at me with this drawing pin, eventually he would get me and hit me, at this point I'd wake up and sit bolt up right almost pissing myself.

There is another one which i consistently used to have: a turtle, a snake and a bird, as to which they were sat talking on the side of a cliff edge, and then they all moved to this rock in the middle of the sea about 20ft up, which had a cave in it, and they sat there talking again and then all of a sudden they all departed at once, the turtle went back into the sea, the snake went underwater to go back to land and the bird flew off. Still confuses me that one.

These days, when i cant get sleep i have this visions of Cristiano Ronaldo jumping over fences, i finally fall asleep counting Ronaldos, One Ronaldo, Two Ronaldos, Three Ronaldos...

Celebrity Obsessed People

I was sitting alone in Cafe Coffee Day this evening enjoying the solitude and minding my own business, when two teenage females walked in. They sat in a sofa behind me and being the sad bastard that I am I listened intently to their conversation. Firstly they talked about Heath Ledger and what a tragedy it was that he died, then they talked about Ranbir Kapoor and Deepika Padukone and how heartbroken poor Yuvraj Singh would be at this point of time.

Then they talked at length about Britney Spears.Then one female told the other that she has eyes on this new guy in her building. The other female said, "What does he look like". The first female replied "He's kinda like a good looking, tough Bruce Willis type". The other female then said, "I prefer clean cut, handsome Keano Reeves types personally".

Seriously why on earth can people not frame a sentance without mentioning a celebrity ? Bloody Hell !

Without Glasses

Yeah, i know this is bound to surprise a few but i actually have a number, (-1.5 and -2). Surprised because i never wear my spectacles. I have always had problems looking a far away objects and i often identified people by their body shape because the face always appeared blurred. It really wasnt much of a problem to be honest and i wasnt even concerned about it too much.

However, the occupation of my preference demands eyesight of 6/6 , so its imperative that i get my LASIK done.I had an appointment today and the date is tentatively set to the second week of may.Apparently, the surgery takes just 15 minutes !

Coming Very Soon....

Doubters And Bastards !

The last 2 years has been the steepest learning curve in my short life thus far. Before that i remember bragging stuff like "there is nothing more for me to learn" , kiddish and self absorbed arrogance with a tinge of insecurity was clearly reflected from the boasts whilst little did i know that the man upstairs was looking down with a sadistic grin lighting up his wise face. "You aint seen nothing yet, laddie."

An honest opinion of myself would see me labelled as a good guy. I am likeable and polite, i like to make people happy and am rarely rude to anyone. Needless to say, i have had loads and loads of friends in the 9th and 10th. Yes, having so many friends did give me a feeling of satisfaction, and a feeling of being wanted and liked.

Though, with the passage of time i realised that the so called friendships were just a combination of parasatic companionship, hollow convinience and symbiotic indifference. ISC was filled with such experiences of being let down by the people you trusted.Jealousy is a key word and most of the time , its people's insecurity which makes them do things they normally wouldnt do. I think that was the case with many of the idiots i have had to encounter.

Now, talking about the worse breed of idiots, the ones who would smile sweetly when you looked but as soon as the back is turned, the knives are out and sharpened and you are the one they are aiming at.Dont, get me wrong , i have always welcomed constructive criticism but the criticism which is borne out of idle gossip with a view of being vindictive really hurts . But the matter of the fact is that ,you dont need hashish, cocaine or marijuana if you can prove your doubters wrong,cause its as much a drug as the other three are, its addictive and it feels wonderful . I vividly remember scoring my first goal after my long injury lay-off, i had played 3 matches before that and honestly i was rubbish. And having listened to so many snide remarks like "he is finished" , scoring that diving header and looking them in the eye was just priceless !

Its just that you have to look at yourself and the mirror and ask yourself , "Are you good enough to prove them wrong ?" The day, when the answer is in the negative would be the day that i stop respecting myself, not for knowing that i am not good enough anymore,but just for thinking that i could be.

This is vaguely how the writer of this blog looks like. Ha ha.

Get Well Soon Eduardo

Speaking from a personal experience i had an identical injury on Oct 2006,Judging from the pics its a sure case of ankle dislocation, but the scans will tell if there is a fracture along with the dislocation or not. No fracture would mean he can be back within 6 months. Also dislocations causes a lot of damage to the tissues,blood vessels and nerves which are pressurised by the dislocated bone and the skin, causing a lot of damage, and those things usually take a long time to regenerate.Nerve tissues wont, they simply die causing loss of sensation in that area.

I know all this biological shite because i have had the exact same injury, i had a couple of operations, takes around 6-8 months, to even start walking normally, they might even insert steel plates so training and running is a complete no-no. I am telling you, it will be atleast a year and half till you see the best of Eduardo again, if there is a case of fracture along with the dislocation.

Get well soon lad, you will need all the wishes !

The Problem With Modern Day Footballers

I recieved this in an email and its fucking hilarious.


"I'm feeling all angry about these modern day footballers, I know why they have gone all soft - It's because of poncy names. That's what it is. Remember in the old days, when foot players kicked a fucking ball made out of ten pound of clay stitched inside a steel-reinforced leather shell with laces made out of piano wire?Well, in them days players could only survive the rigors of the game because they were called things like Albert, Arthur, Bert, Harry, Bill, Eddie, Bob, Jack and Tommy. Fucking tough names for tough men, them were. And what do we have now? Jason, Wayne, Dean, Ryan, Jamie, Robbie. Fucking tarts' names, they are.

Great big fucking puffs. No wonder the ball's like a fucking balloon and shin pads is like slices of bread. In the old days you never saw a Len Shackleton or a Billy Wright with a puffy little Sondico piece of paper down his little thin socks. Fucking shin pads in them days was made out of library books, and socks was like sackcloth.Same with the jerseys. Fucking shirts with holes in now so they can breathe. Yes, so that little Jody's hairless chest can breathe and he doesn't get a chill. Fuck off. Stanley Matthews used to dribble round Europe's finest wearing a fucking tent and shorts cobbled together from the jacket of his de-mob suit. Aye, he fucking did.

No wonder players fall over all the time whenever an opponent comes anywhere near them. And they never used to show their arses at one another either. Can you imagine what might have happened if Don Revie had flashed his ring at Nat Lofthouse during a City-Bolton Wanderers game? He'd have got one of them size 10 hobnail fuckers up his bastard chuff.Fucking therapy for stress my arse! Stan Collymore slaps his missus about and he takes three seasons off with stress counseling. What the fuck is that all about? In the old days it was expected for footballers to belt the old sow about a bit, specially after a bad defeat. And the women used to expect it, and so they should have. They were lucky to be married to footballers. Ha! Trevor Morley got a kitchen knife in his back off his wife and was out of action for three month. Soft twat. Archie McShitt of Port Vale got run over with horse and cart one Friday night and he still turned out against Bradford the following day. And he scored two goals. That's cos his name wasn't "Trevor".

Good old Archie. Broke his hip, both his legs, murdered his wife and buried her under the patio and still made the England team for the Home Internationals. Did he have any "stress counselling"? Did he bollocks!And drugs? There was none of that in the old days. Oh, no. In them days it was a quick shot of morphine before kick-off and you were lucky if you got that. By half time it had all but wore off so they pumped you full of laudanum. None of this cocaine sniffing and shooting up class A narcotics.

Goal celebrations? Don't talk to me about goal celebrations. Crawling on the floor and thrusting their hips at the crowd. Huh! I'd like to have seen Cliff Bastin do that after a run down the left flank and crossing for Alex James to fire home a winner. Handshakes,and that was all you got. That and a wank in the showers afterwards. But it was a proper wank,all man stuff. None of these puffy wanks between blokes that you get nowadays with players like Greame Le Saux and Stephen Gerrard. Allegedly.

In them days, there was nowt wrong with it cos it didn't mean nowt. They used to say there was a "gay atmosphere" in the dressing room after the match. But it didn't mean owt mucky. Just a bit of harmless spanking the plank among healthy young sportsmen. Aye. I know. Me dad told me.Sixty grand a fucking week! Ha! I wouldn't pay 'em tuppence. Two bob Tommy Lawton used to get a month! And Tom Finney still worked as a plumber four days a week when he was playing for England. It's true, you know.Fucking is. Players had to work them days just to make up their money. Not like today. Stan Pearson had to clean sewers and doubled up as Old Trafford shithouse cleaner. He had to go off during one game because some cunt had built a log cabin and blocked the U-bend.

And that Eddie Hapgood was a male model,though he never liked to talk about it.So I say we start calling kids real male names again. If you're having a kid, don't even consider puffy names and shite names like what people call their kids these days. Otherwise what we gonna get in twenty years' time? The England team full of players called Keanu, Ronan, Ashley and fucking Chesney. Fuck that! Call your kids Alf, Herbert, Len, Frank, Fred and Wilf. And let's get the puffs out of the game once and for all !

Memories Of The Hospital...

Plz Dont Try This At Home Or In Your School Grounds....

Umm Well,It all started when we had this 11th vs 12th match in our school the other day.The match was scheduled after school,12th were really strong but we wernt bad.

The match started and predictably 12th had the upper hand.We preferred to play on the counter-attack like fucking Manchester City and i had to play in a very familiar role of a lone striker and our strategy was to play on the break and long balls where my strength and aeriel ability could be employed to set up quick counter attacks ,However we really were unable to get a foothold into the game my in my desperation i remember tackling the opposition defender (quite a few times).Few words were exchanged and nothing more.We couldnt have much poccession simply because we wernt good enough and needless to say, 12th were dominating.I did my share of running and tackling and chances were few and far and the game was congested in midfield as we put lots of bodies behind the ball.We did have a break-on once or twice but nothing really materialised,we were getting desperate because we knew that it was a matter of time before they score and after that it would a question of how many.

I hoped a tackle or a run by anyone would spur the team on,but i could see shoulders drooping and then came a chance.Utkarsh played a glorious 1-2 with Vignesh and the ball was passed to Sagnik who crossed the ball to the near post.I gave the ball back to him and continued my run and he crossed again.The cross was deflected and it came wierdly at me.I tried an overhead bicycle kick but the space was limited because there was a defender very near me which gave me very less space to fee my legs hence i had to fold my left leg in mid-air.I landed on my ankle which had twisted and i heard a sickening crack like a dry twig getting snapped.
Everything was a blur from then on.

I wont talk bout the physical pain cause thats all too obvious,the physical pain was undoubtedly unbearable but people often underestimate the mental trauma associated with the injury like this .You feel empty with a feeling of hopelessness sorrounding you.There was uncertainity over if i would ever walk or play football again and the thought of the impending operation scared the shit out of me and all you do to kill time is look at the fan going round and round, till the end of time.

There is a feeling of guilt for doin the stupid stupid bicycle thing and feeling of the reality which shrieked out that even a single mistake and your life can be fucked beyond repair.Feelings of insecurity and helplessness were pretty evident and you feel distanced from the so called "normal" people.You also live that horrible moment again and again and and hear the sound of your bone snapping into two.

That day is saw Eduardo suffer an identical injury as me.My heart goes all out for him, and hope you recover soon !

My First Post....

This is my first post.....