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There is no picking a winner between a lous and a flea, i am more apt to label Cambridge a lous, creeping, apologetic, hoping not to be seen as a finger and thumb close.
Will Cambridge take to the pitch wearing tu tus, those skimpy rounded things ballet dancers wear, it would suit Appere, as he, half ballet dancer, half a rear end of a panto horse.
And he plays like a horses ass, playing a horses ass in Barnsley would be much aprreciated.
Not Cambridge, that role is usually taken up by that lad from Blackpool, the one with cotton for hamstrings, and has a human ass, as well as a horses ass, the size of the Elizabeth Way bridge.
How do jerks show up,? wearing yellow of course. Watts could wear a Stetson with bullet holes in it. Bennett pedalling a trike, reading the Dandy, and paying scant attention to the game.
And what of half wits like Kai Kai? tip toeing instead of putting a foot down, wishing he was somewhere else.
And of Paul Barry a methodist Parson from Coveney, pages in hand, all covered by financial projections, all with an arrow downwards.
And who on earth are Bromley, do they have a pitch?, or do they play in some schools playground? Woe that true grit, Workington no longer tread the boards.
Can i equate this game to Sophies Choice, a twin suicide, paranoid schizophrenia, death camps, murder, impending doom , over powering doom.
Of course, its a Cambridge game.
With As sdown in goal, Shakespeare he aint, a flesh knotter, a person unknown to civilised conversation, miserable goalkeeping quackery.
A flapper, a face full of regret and anxiety. Can i hope that Bromley can advance society by winning, and helping to deny United automatic promotion, and the defeats in the play offs.
If only.
Will Cambridge take to the pitch wearing tu tus, those skimpy rounded things ballet dancers wear, it would suit Appere, as he, half ballet dancer, half a rear end of a panto horse.
And he plays like a horses ass, playing a horses ass in Barnsley would be much aprreciated.
Not Cambridge, that role is usually taken up by that lad from Blackpool, the one with cotton for hamstrings, and has a human ass, as well as a horses ass, the size of the Elizabeth Way bridge.
How do jerks show up,? wearing yellow of course. Watts could wear a Stetson with bullet holes in it. Bennett pedalling a trike, reading the Dandy, and paying scant attention to the game.
And what of half wits like Kai Kai? tip toeing instead of putting a foot down, wishing he was somewhere else.
And of Paul Barry a methodist Parson from Coveney, pages in hand, all covered by financial projections, all with an arrow downwards.
And who on earth are Bromley, do they have a pitch?, or do they play in some schools playground? Woe that true grit, Workington no longer tread the boards.
Can i equate this game to Sophies Choice, a twin suicide, paranoid schizophrenia, death camps, murder, impending doom , over powering doom.
Of course, its a Cambridge game.
With As sdown in goal, Shakespeare he aint, a flesh knotter, a person unknown to civilised conversation, miserable goalkeeping quackery.
A flapper, a face full of regret and anxiety. Can i hope that Bromley can advance society by winning, and helping to deny United automatic promotion, and the defeats in the play offs.
If only.