I remember going to night clubs in the late eighties and giving men who looked like Stoke players a really wide berth. They were pasty faced behemoths with glassy eyed, heavily booze sedated glares. Occasionally they focused upon their prey and those daft enough to meet their gaze were too frequently met with an immediate threat of violence.
The first half was near unwatchable. And I’m not whining just because we trudged off two goals to the worse. It was anti football all the way. Stoke hoofed and Huthed their way again and again into our penalty area. If any other Premiership outfit when awarded a throw in gave a 15/20 second burst of Irish dancing (just for example) prior to throwing the ball, they would be penalized without hesitation.
But with Stoke the ceremony of the towel, the ball cleansing, rubbing, examinaion and finally the run up prior to launch appears to now be a welcomed part of the game. Hell, they’ve even let them sew a towel into the inside of their shirts.
The second half was a mess. Chris Foy is a retarded and incontinent old woman and that’s about as constructive as I can be about him.
A dreadful game.