The Faithful welcomes Mancunian writer Ellezed to our site. Ellezed is a hard hitting female pipe bomb, who loves her club and worships at the feet of Cantona. Her musings are for ‘adults only’ and are always passionate and opinionated. Catch her new regular column here with us. Warning: Language may well be…..fruity
During the final assembly of Year 7, as I sat cross-legged at the front of the hall, waiting for the bell to toll and signify my freedom. I remember slicing a 20p coin from my bus fare into my clammy thigh, and trying not to breathe in the musky odour from my fetid, sweating teenage classmates who had spent the day in British summertime heat, with it’s insufficient air-conditioning. And then in this sea of British Knights/ Troop trainers-with-no-socks, Lynx/Impulse body-spray-covering-up-a-multitude-of-personal-hygiene-faux-pas hell… in walked Mr Collings.
Poor old Mr Collings.
Lovely fella, he was. Dead nice. The sort of youth that, these days, I would probably send a Christmas card. He had endless energy and enthusiasm and despite working in a Mancunian Secondary School, never allowed the pi$$-takers (of which there were many) to push him over the edge. We’d get him talking about Great T!ts and Blue T!ts and a myriad of other childish subject matter, and even though he knew the crack, he’d proceed with gusto and act like we were genuinely inquisitive.
Every morning, he dressed like he’d walked past a charity shop (not the cool ones), dipped his hand in the bargain bucket and popped on what he pulled out. And on casual days (such as this, the end of term day – “video day”) he wore – God love him – the single most offensive pair of trainers you have ever seen in your entire life.
As I’ve got older, I realise (sort of) that trainers are not a spiritual embodiment of all that is good and tasteful (in a way). We are not merely corporate advertising spaces for Nike and Adidas (ish). And that the guy in the own brand trainers with the word ‘Fitness’ written on in neon green is probably the true punk in the situation (kind of). But nonetheless, I was 12.
And it was whilst wearing these trainers that he came to the front of the hall and began to address the school before we left for the school year.
1: Mr Collings – as previously implied – was a talker. 2: Mr Collings had dog sh!t on his Fitness trainers.
This one moment in time had from that point on come to embody hell for me: trapped and sandwiched between heat and stench with no end in sight had seemed like the very worst.
Of course, I’ve experienced much worse since. I’ve given birth. People I’ve loved have died. I don’t know what happened to my Shaun Ryder autograph…
But the reason for my ambling and descriptive introduction is that I have been trying to ascertain as to just what level of hell I’d place John Terry. And I’m pretty sure gagging on dog sh!t in a heated room of sweating teenagers is about the notch.
Journalists have to be impartial, obviously. I don’t. I’m partial.
John Terry is a Jeremy Kyle guest with a talent. He has two tiny little slits for eyes and one, cruel slit for a mouth that is permanently shaped into a sneer. He has the complexion of a junkie and I have yet to hear a witticism. He looks like erectile dysfunction… When I see him interviewed I can almost hear him giving his doctor a list of embarrassing ailments. He’s a self-pitying coward. You see it in every cockney thug just like him. I absolutely guarantee he’s weeping often about this racism situation. But not for the reasons he should be. If you slice through his torso, he’s got ‘Woe is Me’ written through him like Southend Rock.
‘Innocent Until Proven Guilty’. Fine. I’m in. But we’re waiting six months – actually NINE fu%king months to find out? In the meantime, we have to watch someone who may be a racial abuser play football week-in, week-out?
I don’t think we should be waiting until it’s convenient for football to find out if someone within the game has committed a crime. DURING WORK TIME, WITHIN THE PLACE OF WORK.
He should be suspended, on full pay. A trial as soon as possible. Unable to play at any level.
But here’s the problem see.
It’s this Boy’s Brigade sh!te. People thinking, “It’s a little slip of the tongue. Everyone’s a bit too testy these days. It’s all racism this, sexism that…”
“Would you smash it?”
“Well, he is black, it’s just a description!”
“Negrito means I love you…”
“He was having the crack, he didn’t really want her to put her hands down his pants..”
It’s insulting. The Soccer AM sh!te, with the dim girl with big t!ts who comes on knowing f@ck-all about footie in a replica Wolves shirt while twelve fat lads from Brum leer on? Yawn, man. Fu%king yawn.
I think this Boy’s Brigade is getting smaller, actually. Eventually, it’s just going to be two teenage BNP members from Stevenage, maxing out Skyrim and wank!ng over their FHM calendar. Which is why when a little c@nt like John Terry who secretly thinks he’s talking for your ordinary football fan, when he (allegedly) has even the inclination to bring race onto the football pitch. Even the fu%king (alleged) inclination, he needs to be told – straight off – it’s not 1972, you d!ck.
He’s sh!t at football nowadays anyway.
The very fact that Anton has received a bullet in the post shows there is a pressing need to resolve this matter. Who gives a f@ck about taking focus away from the Euros? England are in dire need for a scapegoat each tourney anyway. May as well be this.
That being said, I don’t care who he’s f@cked. Bridge deserved everything he got for befriending such an obvious thug. I absolutely disagree that he should have been stripped of his captaincy for something that occurred outside the workplace, and I said as much at the time.
Who people f@ck, consensually and legally, is their own business. Especially in sport. It only becomes pertinent in politics. Some people have argued that if you are getting sponsorship on the wholesome ‘family man’ image, and aren’t, then it’s pertinent. I disagree. Public figures cannot be expected to adhere to constructed personas brought forward by advertising executives.
They both win in that arrangement. And sponsors cannot hold figures responsible for not adhering to an image they themselves authored.