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General Pinochet's All New Domestic Football 20/21. Arsenal and Spurs free!!!


PowerButchi

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52 minutes ago, Mr_Danger said:

Rudi on Super Soccer was my go to guy.

Super Soccer!! Approach goal straight up or straight down, standing marginally inside the post. Shoot. Score. Taking it round the keeper was for try-hards.

Unlocking the Nintendo team was brilliant. Although the monotony of playing the teams in the same order every time was rubbish. I heard Belgium’s music so many times it’s burned into my brain. And the random colours of some of the kits because there were no away kits and they didn’t want clashes. England in sky blue was OK but some of them were hideous.

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8 hours ago, PunkStep said:

The USA were unnecessarily unbeatable in that game. Also, Brazil had fucking Muller up front rather than Romario.

I had it on Amiga, every game always seemed to go to penalties.

Wembley International Soccer was the true belter of that era.

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Fans back for the Play-offs! Best news in a hell of a long time. Now just need to get a bit of luck and have my name pulled in the ticket lottery!

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OK, so now we know that Barnsley are officially the UKFF's 3rd team, what are peoples honest opinion of our play-off hopes? 

I've supported them a long time, so I'm automatically fearing the worst, but the play-offs can be a bit of a lottery and form can go out of the window quite quickly. If we can get past Swansea, then it's all there to play for! 

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2 hours ago, Cod Eye said:

OK, so now we know that Barnsley are officially the UKFF's 3rd team, what are peoples honest opinion of our play-off hopes? 

I've supported them a long time, so I'm automatically fearing the worst, but the play-offs can be a bit of a lottery and form can go out of the window quite quickly. If we can get past Swansea, then it's all there to play for! 

I assume it’s a toss up between world famous Dragons Wrexham and Harchester United for 1st and 2nd?

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46 minutes ago, Mr_Danger said:

I assume it’s a toss up between world famous Dragons Wrexham and Harchester United for 1st and 2nd?

Wrexham and Coventry. Although, and I may be totally wide of the mark here, but I think the results were a little big rigged....

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Well, today's been a memorable day.

I've spent it wearing the shirt which Leicester happened to be wearing. It wasn't a coincidence that I happened to be wearing a Leicester jersey but I didn't know they'd be wearing that particular top today. My celebrating might come across as a tad mercenary: I don't actively follow football, and don't support any particular club. But I'm from Leicester, and my entire family, bar me, are supporters. My grandfather and most of my uncles were stewards, and my brother, who started working with them at 16, is the kit man. Yes, he has a Premiership winners' medal. He's also the source of my replica kit: he sent me the whole lot, plus some boots, so that I would look the part when playing football to try to lose some weight. Unfortunately, being a fat cunt, I contrived to give myself a stress fracture in the shin, so my return was short-lived. Come to think of it, I worked for Leicester too, from 18 to 22. So it's a family thing.

Beyond that, though, there's a bigger reason for my emotional investment today: my brother invited us to a personal tour at the King Power Stadium in 2016. Well, how was I supposed to know it would result in a family photo around the Premiership trophy? Nobody told me anything, so I turned up looking scruffy even by my usual tramp-chic standards: faded joggers which had shrunk in the wash and were halfway up my shins, and lank hair, hanging around my jowls like that fella off the Hamlet advert whose combover surrendered to gravity. Since I don't follow football, I didn't know until a week or so ago that Leicester were in the final, and so my hopes got up relatively late in the day: perhaps we could retake that photo and bin the old one! After all, two new niblings have arrived since then, and all the blokes have since had the snip, so the extended family is larger and now complete. Yes, the old photo is out of date: here would lie my salvation. I'm not naive: I'll still need a unicyle to support my sprawling bellies, but at least this time I can wash my hair and wear some proper clothes. 3 out of 10 is better than the previous negative number.

Well, Leicester won today. Success! So I decided to head to the pub, wearing my Leicester shirt, to celebrate my own Great Escape. There's a pleasant family pub about a 10-minute walk away, and a shithole just around the corner. I thought I'd play it safe and head to the friendly one. Alas, it was closed, so a U-turn resulted, and I soon occupied a table outside the rough one. It's the sort where, from Monday onwards, you'll be wiping your feet on the way out. By tradition, I order two pints when I arrive in a pub: I know the first one will disappear in a few minutes, and it saves having to order again in a hurry. They arrived relatively promptly, and then WHOOSH! -- a pint glass flies within inches of my head at high velocity, and my back is soaked to the skin. I shit myself for a second, thinking it's some Chelsea fan who is understandably aggrieved about the VAR decision. I turn around to plead my case: "I agree! And I don't actually support Leicester!" Fortunately, it wasn't aimed at me: some feral, his ratlike features twisted venomously, had taken umbrage with some people in the street. Feeling disrespected by them, he'd thrown what appeared to be a full pint in their direction as hard as he could in a statement of ill intent. I happened to be sitting directly between the two parties, as my soaked Leicester jersey and trousers attested. I'm a philosophical man: I count myself lucky that he was so inebriated because otherwise he'd never have accomplished the physics-defying task of somehow missing my oversized head from a foot behind it.

At this point, the solution seemed pretty clear: drink up the remaining nearly two pints, and head on my way, hoping that I don't get a four-knuckle facelift when I get back for apparently pissing myself. (I'm sure the pint that I ended up swimming in was Carling, so this misperception was entirely feasible.) And then the venue complicated things by bringing a third pint to the table by way of apology, delaying my escape by a further five minutes.

But all's well that ends well. I'm now safely at home, and Ronette, who hates the Hellhole Bar, had no difficulty believing the story. And I'm going to look less of a tramp in the family photo, so that's a result.

It's been a memorable day.

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