So on Saturday afternoon I looked to take my mind off of that dumpster fire against Chelsea by going to Williamsburg and drinking enough beer to reduce my spelling and grammar to the level of the Roosevelts. Unfortunately, I was besieged by Brooklyn hipsters wearing Chelsea gear.
Apparently, when they were getting half of their heads shaved, pipe fittings tattooed to their calves, and stapling Sesame Street Children's books to their jackets' shoulders, they didn't get the memo that Chelsea aren't exactly underground. It's kind of embarrassing they don't realize all the hip, cutting edge kids (i.e. not Ed) are becoming Wolves fans. Wait, that's not underground enough. They should all be Millwall fans because no one likes them and they don't care. Also, when they show up to Millwall games wearing their neon yellow "2004" New Year's Eve Sunglasses they'll take a brick to the head and that'll teach them to rub my nose in it.
And now the news.
John Crace once wrote a book about how he coped with depression during Tottenham's season in the Champion's League. So his evaluation of our current state is sure to be a bucket of sunshine. (Note: this is not a bucket of sunshine.)
"I told you he was the yellow king!" exclaimed the Spurs legend.
Saturday was rough. So Kevin and I have been watching this on loop since then. It kind of helps a lot.
I bought one of these this weekend. I can assure you that it is real and it is spectacular.
You have one job, Wigan. One. Job.
"Garrett Jones Dubstep Commercial"