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Posts Tagged ‘Diego Maradona’

You Have To Hand It To Him!

You Have To Hand It To Him!

Azteca Stadium – Mexico City, Mexico- 1986

He was small,  stocky and had a lovely mop of hair. He had it all. And he did it in tiny, shiny shorts. He was Diego Armando Maradona.

England. Sturdy. Yeomen. Thick.

It was a clash. Not only of cultures and values but also hairstyles. England still trimmed by Mum; Argentina mulleted bandoleros. Boy, did they give the volumizer a bashing at half-time.

A war had divided the two nations. But one thing united both teams. Exceptionally tiny, shiny shorts.

As Peter Reid, the doughty Liverpudlian midfield enforcer, said about Maradona, “I just couldn’t get near him, me shorts had cut of the blood supply to me knackers. I can’t have no kids ‘coz of dem shorts laa.”

England could not cope with the titchy Buenos Aires Barrio boy. Diego was that good. But he was also a cheat. A cheat who drew inspiration from God.

THE HAND OF GOD.


As these photos display the infamous first goal, when he punched the chicken into the net over the head of English goalkeep, the perma-permed Shilts to put his Tangoing team ahead.

From a different angle the chicken looks suspiciously like a boiled ham. If that doesn’t scream Ham Ball we don’t know what does.

You’ve Got To Ham It To Him!

We'd Get Him In The End!

We’d Get Him In The End!

The result? Argentina won the game and went on to lift the World Cup of Footbally Bally.

Shiny shorts are still banned in England to this day.

Diego is now Pope.

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Hello Folks,

You will note how excited we were when our columnist Bob On The Pot seized the Papal Crown a couple of days ago, only to be usurped by that speccy, Swarthy Latin from Argentina, Frank.

Not Pope Bob On The Pot, has penned the following few words to express his sadness at losing the Papal Seal.

Pope Bob Takes His Throne Outside St Peter's

Hello

It’s not everyday you become Pope. It’s not everyday you unbecome Pope! Sadly my first Sermon On The Pot was to be my only one.

I was enjoying my new role to. The Potmobile was very comfy, and my lovely wife Shirley had given the confessionals in St Peter’s a makeover, with new TV’s, Jacuzzi and Minibar fitted.  Revamping transubstantiation was on her to do list as well.

I was gutted when Cardinal Kiddy-Fiddler told me that I was no longer Pope. The reasons were very flimsy;

  • I am not Catholic
  • I have trouble spelling my name
  • My table manners left a bit to be desired
  • The answers to life’s problem cannot be solved by the liberal application of cheese
  • My rash caused night sweats amongst some of the Clergy
  • I was married
  • I couldn’t knit

Most of these points are irrelevant and you CAN sort out most of your problems by the liberal application of Cheese.

But I have decided to set up a new religion. Potestantism.

You Have To Hand It To Him!

You Have To Hand It To Him!

I’ll be working on the finer details on the Megabus back from Rome, but Gambling, Tax Avoidance, Drink Driving and Free Rash Treatments will all feature as central tenets of Potestantism.

Our laws will be gleaned from the box set of Happy Days, Shirley bought me for Xmas.  “Sit On It!” will be our mantra.

But what really sticks in my craw is that they’ve given the job to an Argenbleedintinian! Jeez these bastards will think that the Falklands will be a doddle for ’em now.

And as for that cheatin’ knobhead Maradona – Hand Of God? Me arse – so I say- Bring It On Pope Diego – keep your hands off Guernsey.

Ham Of God

Ham Of God

Laters and don’t forget – Sit On It!

Not Pope Bob I

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