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Never Forget
Donkey Watch
Dylan Macallister
81 minutes without a goal
Last Goal: 31 August 2008
John Aloisi
675 minutes without a goal
Last Goal: 19 January 2008
Vaughan Coveny
1162 minutes without a goal
Last Goal: 30 September 2007
Jason Hoffman
1164 minutes without a goal
Last Goal: n/a in professional football
David Zdrilic
1707 minutes without a goal
Last Goal: 10 November 2006
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Written by JayFC The Internet Warrior God
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Monday, 01 September 2008 |
In recent times, Sydney’s crowds have been dropping quicker than Mark Priestley which is causing great concern amongst the handful of fans that still support the dying club. The Pre-Season Cup showed that Sydney’s brand appeal can only stretch 5 miles past Paddington, their season opener barely scraped past the 5 figure mark, and you’d be forgiven thinking that not many of the players were watching the game either last week after seeing some of the woeful defending on show against the Mariners. Sydney now faced off against Perth Glory and the Sky Blues management were bracing themselves for the side effects from their last home fixture where a bunch of pseudo wogs started a riot inside Aussie Stadium as they attempted to be cultured football fans by throwing fists towards opposing Melbourne fans over a rivalry fuelled solely by the internet and if you don’t think the actions of the SCC would affect the crowd, then you are severely underestimating the sissy element in the a-league. Those worst fears were materialized when 5000 people didn’t bother to return to the stadium yesterday and that figure could have been much higher if it weren’t for Sydney FC taking a few lessons in the Sydney Roosters School of Attendance Keeping. The question is with crowds clearly dropping, where the bloody hell is the advertising?
The a-league’s advertising in general has always been disappointing but Sydney’s has been pitiful to be polite. It seems that if you have successfully placed an ad in the local classifieds, you are somewhat overqualified to be the marketing director for Sydney FC. I would like to critique Sydney’s advertising campaign by calling it horrendously dismal but I don’t think you can critique something that doesn’t exist. The advertising for this team has been so bad that at times I even forget what the name of their club is when I‘m at their home games. Jesus, it’s not like they cut back on the advertising department to fund the groundskeeping department. Look, I can nitpick and flick shit while gripping my dicktip about what Sydney aren’t doing as their godawful club rots away but instead, I am going to offer them a simple strategic plan to get the fans back through the gates. So someone, please forward this article to the Sydney marketing guru and I may save his incompetent ass from returning to the Centrelink queue. So how are we going to get the crowds back up; The Mt Isa Effect.
Unless you have been living under Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson for the past month, you may have heard some news about Mt Isa’s mayor pleading for the attractively-handicapped to move to his town to resolve the Blue Balls epidemic that is sweeping the region. Apparently, there’s too many men and not enough pink holes and the Mayor wants paper-bag friendly bitches to fill the void. Simple enough plan, but what is inadvertently happening with this unique tourism campaign is that desperate men have been flocking to the town, thinking that women are really that unintelligent. Now Sydney FC could easily be incorporating this promotion down their way by publicly suggesting to fatties that men here have really low standards and that’s probably a fair assumption if they are watching an a-league game. Of course, this won’t bring any women through the gates but you know that more men, on the false pretenses of a forthcoming poonrush, will be flocking to the games, even if it’s the ones restricted to furiously beating off to anime wall scrolls every night for the past 8 years. Sure, it may be false advertising but so is that 90 minutes 90 emotions tagline when we all know the only emotion you experience at an a-league game is regret for wasting $20 to see this horrendous football. Of course, if you want more than a bandaid solution, you will need to actually attract some women to the games and one thing that can bring women to the games is homosexuals.
Recently, Sydney FC saw itself home to the a-league’s first recognised gay supporters group known as SLAGS (Sydney Lesbians and Gays Supporters) (btw I showed a lot of restraint there not writing the SCC fwiw) with the group reaching enough members that they were able to buy season tickets collectively. The thing that strikes me the most about this supporters group is that while there are 13 members in it’s group, one of the members is straight. That’s right, it takes 12 gays to make one faghag. Now do I really need to go into further detail here? If we are going to satisfy the influx of men coming for The Mt Isa Effect, we are going to need a lot more gays in order to bring in the faghags and thus not making the ending sentence of the last paragraph sound as retarded. The question though is, where in the city of Sydney can you find homosexuals? The answer is simple; in the Catholic Church.
First it was asexual, then it was metrosexual but now this summer’s must have accessory is being a homosexual and it‘s now practically been given the blessing of the catholic church. Once upon a time, you would live with the burdening shame of unavoidable eternal damnation if you were a homosexual but with groups like DignityUSA, a Catholic group for gay, lesbian, bisexual & transgender catholics, setting up over 50 chapters in The US, your ungodly ways are now being fully endorsed. And that’s a good thing because if World Youth Day has taught us anything, it’s that Catholics believe owning as much novelty merchandise as possible will greatly increase their chances of going to heaven. If you were ambitious enough to drive through the CBD during the event, you wouldn’t had much luck in avoiding your car becoming stationary for every 50 metres driven, not because of the traffic but more because of all the bible covers, crucifixes and WWJD wristbands getting caught in your car’s tires, acting as holy road spikes. Really, Sydney must start to exploit the neverending green that expels from their wallets and convert the SFS into their spiritual homeland. Problem is though, Sydney are cursed to have this jewish tag hanging over their head because of the identical parallels with a former Jewish NSL franchise but luckily, it’s not that difficult for a club to be born-again. Sydney, if you want Salvation, dob in Zionist Frank Lowy to the tax department and wash away your unholy sin. Replace renowned atheists Syd and Sydnee as the team’s mascots and let god’s light shine upon you. Remove former Hakoah legend Kosmina as coach and free yourself from your wicked ways. Actually Sydney, forget all that; if you want to see where your recent crowd problem stems from, you just need to focus on the 5th word in the previous sentence.
Currently, Sydney are leading the way in the sucking department with the team topping the charts for the least amount of shots with 21 being registered in 2 games, 4 of which were on target. Let’s talk about last Saturday’s clash with the Mariners for a moment. My god, while every Sydney fan was busy tossing themselves with glee over Shannon Cole doing something that wasn‘t completely atrocious, meaning they had enough validation to flood the internet with their shitty puns; I was too busy forming multiple hernias in the gut of my stomach from all the condensed anger brewing due to the suck that was scorching my retinas. The first 20 minutes of the game was great. 3 goals, a sitter stuffed up by Bridge aka the right-footed Brosque and another sitter stuffed up by Brosque, aka the left-footed Bridge. Yes, Sydney were actually attacking; so shocked was I at the sight that I had to seek confirmation from a colleague that it was indeed attacking because I had forgotten what the term meant from the years of watching this shitty team play. Then from the 21st minute onwards, the Mariners penalty area was less explored than Amanda Vanstone’s vaginal region. Thanks to John Kosmina, it was like being suffocated in shit from there on in, with a tsunami of mediocreness hitting my eyelids, forming conjunctivitis from the unimaginative tactics on display. Yesterday Sydney played Perth. I didn’t bother going to the game because apparently, I’m like every other Sydneysider. But Sydney, do you want to know why no one turned up? It’s because even when you win, you still suck! So for god’s sake, stop scratching your heads like you have dandruff wondering what the fuck to do. Connect the dots already and sack Kossie because if you ever want anyone other than the mentally depraved to attend your games, you need to stop with your fetish of employing coaches who have put more people to sleep than Nyquil and hire Miron Bleiberg. |
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Written by The Great Ned Zelic
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Monday, 18 August 2008 |
My good friend Ned Zelic, who has only attempted to sue me twice, wanted me to pass on this message to you, the fans.
Australia, I know you are going through a grieving period with news that the Olyroos couldn't come marginally close to replicating the greatness that I managed to carve with my feet during the 1992 Olympic Games. However, I may have spiralled the whole nation into suicide watch with the news that I, Ned Zelic M.D., have retired from the game of soccer. For the loss of Ned Zelic, I, Ned Zelic, would just like to speak on behalf of Ned Zelic and apologize for breaking all your hearts and I send my condolences to you all. This announcement is like I have infected you with Parkinson’s Disease the way I have just shook your world. Let me assure you though that I did consult with Kleenex before I made my decision to ensure they wouldn't be out of stock for the Australian public during this difficult period. Unfortunately, I was forced into to making this decision despite my physical perfection and my borderline orgasmic style of play because Russia had launched a war against Georgia over me. Some say I should have just gone and played in Russia to stop the innocent loss of life but I say let the bloodshed continue as I refuse to be a pawn for political hardball as I want to keep my respect upheld.
The Ned Zelic’s phone has been ringing off the hook from people offering me well wishes on my future ambitions. I even got a phone call from Prime Minister Kevin Rudd but he said he rang the wrong number. The accolades continue to role in even today. Just a few hours ago, I, Ned Zelic, on behalf of the FFA, offered myself the chance to have a lap of honour around every a-league ground to give tribute to how I single handedly revolutionised football in this continent but I had to turn the offer down because I remembered in 2005 when Harry Kewell got a lap of honour at EnergyAustralia Stadium for um… what again? Going a whole week without pulling a hamstring? It’s incidents like this that makes The Ned Zelic regret turning his back on his much beloved homeland of Croatia. To show you how little the Australian public thinks warrants a lap of honour, the Matildas even got one for being eliminated in the Girlie World Cup. The Ned Zelic does not approve of any honourable laps for women footballers unless they achieved a worthwhile cause like being inseminated with my seed artificially or officially. Sadly, convict country loves parading losers which is why on ANZAC Day they all flock the street to salute the men who served against the Vietcong when the only salute those men deserve is the one-fingered kind for failing to do their job. Nonetheless, The Ned digress.
The Ned Zelic is a very grounded and level-headed man so The Magnificent Nedjeljko Zelić would like to thank a few people for their support and encouragement over the years. I would like to thank first and foremost, Ned Zelic for the years of motivation he has supplied me. Sometimes I have felt in doubt of my own ability but whenever those evil thoughts crept in, I could always rely on the mirror to show me Ned and be reminded of what genetic perfection is. I would also like to thank the late Eddie Thomson for the years of coaching that I didn’t listen to. If I had listened to him, who knows, maybe I would have known what it’s like to be Harry Kewell i.e. a pathetic waste of chromosomes who brings forward a suicide-inducing shame to his whole family whenever he steps upon a pitch. The Ned Zelic would also like to take a moment to thank another former coach in Frank Farina. Yes, you read that right, I would like to thank Frank. They say that a broken clock is right twice a day. I never really got that saying; we only have digital clocks in our house. The point is, Frank, if you weren’t such an uneducated douche bag, I wouldn’t have walked out on the Socceroos. But you are, and I thank you for that because if you weren’t, then The Ned Zelic wouldn’t have been so inspired to achieve so much worldwide success just to spite you. Once again, thank you Frank and your underdeveloped brain.
Is football big enough to survive without Ned Zelic? Of course not. The Ned Zelic knows that with his retirement, football will never recover from this crushing blow. In fact, I just saw ‘Football’ listed in the obituaries, which is unsurprising in all honesty. But we must look at the bigger picture here, which is me, Ned Zelic. Retirement is something that The Croatian Goddess Known As Ned Zelic hasn’t fully thought about yet. I presumed my days will be spent posing for statues that will be crafted with only the finest quality of gold. Maybe The Ned Zelic will vary it up by thinking of new and creative ways to ignore the miles of fan mail that is piled by his letterbox. Unfortunately, while The Ned Zelic wants to kick up his heels and enjoy his retirement, he is too overwhelmed with guilt for not being able to afford to offer the whole nation compensation for the traumatic counselling that they are going through because of his decision. I do know that you are all shaken and my heart goes out to you right now. Just look at all the candlelight vigils that have been set up for me; people have been so distraught with my decision that they have been unable to pull themselves together long enough to be able to set up these vigils. People, I know what you’re going through and let me just go on the record and say that, yes, I fully endorse any Honour Killings from parents wanting to spare their child from living in a world where Ned Zelic isn’t playing anymore. It’s a totally justifiable act and any courtroom that disagrees is obviously out-of-touch with the public.
Some people have asked that I donate my body to science when I die. I hated science at school though, so I might donate it to maths instead. I guess that’s why so many people tell me to kill myself; they are just eager scientists who desperately want to work on my body. Again though, I can’t think of myself right now as I am too concerned for the public‘s well being because of my decision. It would be somewhat out of character for The Ned Zelic to think about himself anyway. My children, I know you are saddened that you won‘t get to see The Great Ned Zelic anymore but remember, if you ever need me, you can always find me inside your heart. Let me offer you some final words of wisdom for your meaningless life that will fill you with some fleeting joy. If I could rearrange the alphabet, I would put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together. Although if I had that sort of power, I wouldn’t stop there. So many more letters would be repositioned. Oh so many alternative letter positionings. But now The Ned Zelic must bid you farewell so you can reminisce on the memories of a lifetime that I have supplied you with throughout the years.
Yours Forever
The Legend That Is Ned Zelic
Ned Zelic
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Written by JayFC The Internet Warrior God
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Tuesday, 12 August 2008 |
Graham Arnold is preparing his troops for battle tonight. To fight for the ultimate cause. No it’s not for the quest of bringing home a medal of any shade to bestow national pride upon our homeland. It’s a cause much greater than that. In fact, it’s a cause much greater than the lives of any of the players. They are fighting to decide who is the better journalist; Michael Cockerill or Jesse Fink. Yes, Graham Arnold has unintentionally thrown a grenade in the blogging world by simply selecting 18 humble skips to play some dagoball and all chaos has broken out because of it. It’s called ‘livejournalism’; A play on words from the cesspool of literary murder known as LiveJournal where the writer puts his heart on his sleeve and his colon on his fingertips as he types out such shit thanks to a mixture of mediocre journalism, vein self-centered Live Journal word trash and a touch of “the crazy”.
This all started back when Fox Sports pundit Robbie Slater decided to pen an article suggesting that Arnold’s Olyroo squad wasn’t as bad as people were suggesting, stating that it was more of a Waco than a Auschwitz. Unfortunately for the ex Blackburn benchwarmer, Fink took offence to this and penned a rebuttal shredding all his arguments to pieces, leaving Robbie on the ropes (although lets be honest, the Sunday magazine Kidzone find-a-word section could put Robbie on the ropes). This forced an epic showdown between Fox Sports commentator Mike Cockerill and SBS‘s newest knuckle dragger, Jesse Fink, with the former momentarily putting Jesse in his place. Or so we thought. You see, Jesse Fink opts to ‘dumb it down’ when appealing to a wider audience but he has taken this saying a little too literal and sprinkles dabs of demented retardation all over his articles while Cockerill is more diluted than the Sydney City Roosters attendance keeper placing Arnold in a make believe world which would be more suited to the likes of Cinderella and Peter Pan. Since Jesse Fink has joined the ranks of SBS though, in a bid to impress his counterparts, he has become so negative on everything that the only thing he is positive on nowadays is his HIV test. So when a man with a withered heart of hatred sees a man with childish optimism and respect for the merits of the national team, it’s only natural that sparks would fly and it did with Jesse Fink‘s Pulitzer Prize winning article ‘Gayh4m Arnold izza kunt & Mike P3nisrill liekz balls’ sparking off a chain reaction of name calling and crappy writing from the pair.
One of the things that brings much note is how neither side in this argument is willing to concede any sort of middle ground. It’s either Graham Arnold is a misunderstood victim of the mainstream’s blinding ignorance or Graham Arnold raped your child while it was still in your wife’s womb and thus should be lynched accordingly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m far from anything of an Arnold supporter. In fact, I can’t wait for the day where I can dance on Graham Arnold’s grave. I’ve already got my shoes polished to Salsa all over the dirt above Graham’s corpse before moving into a slow waltz and, time permitting, finishing the night with a quick choreographed two-step routine on Brett Holman’s family plot but, in saying that, there are some things I am willing to concede about the Olyroos. Every tournament, our expectations of our national team continues to grow yet nothing has occurred to really warrant such ever raising ambitions. Many people have pointed to the exclusion of Burns & Djite, who have been cocooned in Simon Hill’s spunk for so long that they have become completely void of any criticism, as a concession to raise the white flag before the tournament had even started but if the exclusion of two players can bring so much doomsday talk, what does it say about the depth of Australian football? Hell, if Mark Milligan is the brightest prospect of this generation, surely that warrants a re-evaluation of our views. In saying that, Cockerill could at least take time to write like he isn’t residing in a methadone clinic. Promoting Arnold’s involvement as a key factor in the Socceroos’ 2006 World Cup qualification is almost as ridiculous as suggesting that their qualification was anything other than an all-round fluke. And while SBS are normally typecast as agenda driven propagandists, Cockerill’s recent rants on local coaches being utmost superior to foreigners can sometimes second as a National Alliance newsletter.
But this has nothing to do with who’s right and who’s wrong here. It’s about the shithouse standard of blogging wars in Australia. You see, whenever I’m reading a Fink article, I usually on average last a whole 6 sentences before going 'fuck it' and closing the window because I find his writing as intellectually stimulating as lolcats.com . The problem is though, I only bothered to return to his half-assed writing because of the much hyped drama that has been yapped about across internet forums nationwide, yet I left only having my view reinforced that journalism is one of the most simplistic degrees on the market. You see, Jesse Fink unintentionally brought a drastic increase of traffic to his web log with his mental breakdown towards anyone part of the Fox Sports armada but all in all, we only got a few snide comments and hype that never lived up to the billing. So instead of bitching about bitching, I am going to offer all you aspiring bloggers some advice on correct blogging feud etiquette.
An Enemy Must Earn Your Hatred: Don’t just go and declare a fatwa on anyone who throws a cheapshot at your general direction. Set the bar high. Make them earn the honour of being your nemesis. It’s a right of passage to receive your scorn and if this isn’t already in your mindset already, then you’re not pretentious enough to be blogging anyway.
Subtle Potshots A Go Go: When you decide who will bare the brunt of your egotism, you need to let your rival simmer in the condense hatred you occasionally spill in your writing. It’s important not to go overboard though. You don’t need to be replacing the fullstops in your articles with death threats. Just the odd potshot here and the occasional likening to some kind of plague-like virus should do the job and who knows, may prompt your target’s paranoia to flare up, bringing forward an earlier than expected mental breakdown.
Don’t Hold Back: Look, it’s all well and nice to throw in a cheap potshot every now and then but there needs to be a point where your shallowness seeps through and you write a whole article where you just discuss your lust at the thought of bathing in the gushing blood that is flowing from your blogging opponent's jugular vein. Don’t hold back. Don’t even let the article be related to anything in particular. Just fill it with creative ways where you call your opponent’s mother a whore and whatnot. Just make sure you have written enough personal information that your adversary needs to get up numerous times during the night to ensure that all their doors are locked.
Don’t Stop Now: You’re on the crazy highway already so you may as well take the turnoff to nut job junction and take this into real life. Yes, send your rival a used condom in the middle of a Christmas card, spread pamphlet across their hometown proclaiming that your opponent is convicted child rapist, break into their house and smear your fecal matter all over the fine cutlery, replace the liquid in their aftershave with phosphoric acid and so on. Remember, the best blogging feuds are remembered by your descent into madness, so if you don’t find yourself locked in a padded room by the end of your tirade, then you haven’t done your job as a blogger.
So Cecilia, before you launch your crusade of slander upon Eamonn, remember these structured steps and reap the rewards. God speed people.
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