They loaded into the lounge, laughing laddishly whilst listening to the LCD TV lament the last lapse attempt this team made, labelling it as a lazy, lifeless, losing effort that could have lost them the league.
‘Brutal, Ben. Absolutely, bloody brutal. A beating by which nobody has ever been blown away by.’
‘Bloody right, Bill! A bewildering display brought about by some behind the ball blabbering that has been bubbling beneath the blanket benignly until… Boom!’
Patrick picks up his pint and pours a portion partially down before impulsively spraying other proud patrons in passionate reprisal of the pundit’s patronizing portrayal.
‘What a pile of pony poo!’ he pipes up. ‘This pundit’s misplaced the plot!’
‘Your right!’ Rick responds. ‘Ridiculous refereeing was the rightful reason.’ raucously reminiscing. ‘It’s an unrealistic reflection of the reds’ real readiness to right the wrongs in remaining arrangements.’
‘Flippin fact!’ Fergus figures, ‘They’re forever flavouring the facts by flinging foul fictitious fantasies in football features. It’s friggin’ fanciful!’
Two halves of hastefully hammering goals behind a harmless keeper, has hastened their heroes to humbling their heretics.