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.