In lieu of our regular match summary, we thought you´d like to read an entertaining piece from a new arrival to the GOT nuthouse, Kenyonl. Enjoy. Or something. I dunno.


Words are very strong. One single word can conjure vivid images that sail away with your imagination. By simply hearing the word, “ocean,” for instance, I can smell the salt air, hear the sea birds, feel the sun and wind, and see exotic ports on the globe.

In fact, two words would double this sensory sensation. For instance, if you were to say the words, “Aston Villa” to me, I would immediately think: dog ****. Well, Everton waded into Villa Park today hoping to take points without stepping in anything.

When I saw Drenthe on one side, Donavan on the other, and new arrival Gibson playing in the middle, my optimist gauge inched toward the right. Then I saw Saha and Cahill up front and the gauge sagged back to where it´s been since August.

The match began as they all do, a ball bouncing and skidding, and players jogging and sprinting, and beer bottles falling off tables and onto my living room rug faster than I could pop them open. You may have heard that Clattenburg was in charge of this match. He wore his hair in one of the gel-fag styles the FA requires **** refs to identify themselves with, but did little else to stand out.

Gibson started strong, knocking the snot out of Petrov, yet taking only ball, and Ireland got dropped like a parolee getting tasered in front of his trailer park home. In fact, Ireland looks like a parolee who should get tasered in front of his trailer park home. In front of his bleeding-from-the-nose-wife. While wearing extra baggy shorts that show all his underwear. Bare-chested with crappy tattoo caricatures of his ex-children staining his sunken chest. That´s what Ireland looks like.

Whatever, it didn´t take Everton long to take hold of this match and do nothing with it.

Everton passed, passed, passed, passed, passed, until Tim Howard finally told the beauts that he was not likely to score again, and that they should venture forward to see if they could create anything. Well, what do you know? They could!

Chances I mean, not goals. In the 17th minute, Saha got a terrific free kick from Baines and headed it to Limpville. A few minutes later Donovan, finally starting to get his British feet under him, stormed the right side and sent a lethal cross into Villa´s box that knocked Saha and three Villa players into the net while the ball stayed out.

The commentator and the co-comm said it was a clear penalty. Saha was content to lie inside the net for a few minutes sleep. Clattenburg´s vision was obstructed, to be fair, but fortunately, he brought along linesmen just as stupid and inept as he for this match.

Shay Given was having quite a game, meaning that Everton were as well. In fact, even Warnock tried to score past him with a wicked header off a Drenthe cross, but was denied.

Speaking of Drenthe, he should never take another corner or free kick, and if he puts in another noodle performance like today, he will never play again full stop.

Suddenly, Drenthe fell to the ground from the shame of his performance. He made the “I want to come off the pitch and go home to drink whiskey” motion toward the pitch, but his plea went unnoticed. With five minutes to go before halftime, the Villa fans began to make their way to the bogs. When the whistle blew, I went in search of glue to sniff.


Apparently, the Villa fans had decided to use the bogs at home, because they never returned. The stadium was as noisy as a gust of wind, save for the full-throttled voice of the Everton fans.

However, at the fifty minute mark, Darren Bent found a bobbling ball in the Everton area and he kicked at it like he was kicking racism out of football. While Louis Saha twittered to confirm that racism has yet to be kicked out of football, the ball Bent kicked bounced high into the corner of Tim Howard´s net. Saha put away his phone.

Bent almost knocked another one past Howard straight away off a ball by Ireland.

Drenthe was so bad today that after awhile Moyes simply had him towed off the field. Moyes then lit a match under Vic and tossed him onto the pitch like a Molotov cocktail, and strangely, he exploded on Villa, rather than in Moyes´s face. Landon Donovan—do you remember him? He´s an American who played here once before, played a sublime ball through to the burning victor, who shot through the Villain´s defence and hit the ball on the run. The ball launched itself past O´Shea.

Just minutes after this moment, Victor, thinking he still had a lit fuse, chased a ball out of touch the way a stupid child chases a butterfly in order to make it his special friend. Well, the ball told Anichebe to **** off, and Victor, devastated, crashed to the ground and grabbed for some random appendage to hold onto while he grimaced. The cameras caught Moyes talking into his phone, saying, “Get hold of Norwich and see if they need another striker.”

In the meantime, Gibson came off and Bily came on. That´s when I kicked in the face of my TV set and wished that it was Moyes. Or Kenwright. Or the bank chairman. Whatever.

The rest of the article has had to be deleted, as it went beyond the realms of insanity that even we´re accustomed to on GOT. Thanks to Kenyonl for the submission!

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