melia

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hahah! bugger off rigsby!

'tis the joys of rote learning. Find a chant, give it a rhythm, it'll soon be ingrained. All together now "oh campione.."

What sort of school did you go to? Don't you remember.. 1's 3s are 3, 2 3s are 6, 3 3s are 9, Melwood's in L12, 6 3s are 18 and 1's 7s are 7, Dovecot's in L14..

I'm useless at remembering specific games but there are definitely a few where I thought Ian Rush was the best centre forward ever. He made good centre backs look as nervous as Phil Babb. And he played in a team that was so good it made it difficult for individuals to shine.

RIP

In 86 I first attempted to get into Wembley using the most obvious forgery I have ever seen (I'm sure it was done with crayons). I next tried, with others, to force a gate. Eventually I got into the ground when someone kindly opened a gate and a load of us ran through it. At the time I thought it was a brilliant thing to do, whatever means necessary to see the game. Sat on steps inside Wembley, I was incapable of extrapolating my actions. What if more than just a few of us had charged through that gate? What if thousands had marched in? The safe capacity limit is set for a reason and I just hadn't considered it. Three years later I decided, on the Friday night, to go to Hillsborough without a ticket. Luckily, a stinking hangover was enough to put me off travelling. I have no doubt that I would have ended up in the crush in Leppings Lane if I would have travelled. That knowledge still frightens me. On another site someone used the phrase "in's in". A more appropriate phrase would be "wrong's wrong". Maybe if people stopped romanticising the blagging into the ground and acknowledged that, whilst it seemed like fun at the time, hindsight bestows the mantle of d****ead upon them. I can understand why people take opportunities when presented but I can't approve of those actions being taken with full knowledge of the potential consequences. Not any more. I was a d****ead, I'd rather not be one now.

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up at half four in the morning, glued to the telly with my two daughters, my son and his girlfriend. I'll be on the phone to my wife who'll be watching it in Canberra as she's supervising 52 kids on a school trip. One of her colleagues on that trip (my mate) is a Salford boy and a big Utd supporter so I'll be giving her occasional lines to shout at him.

If he can stay injury free then I'd love to have him back scoring goals for us. I was annoyed when he went to Newcastle but he fits the requirement of being a natural goalscorer. That's what we need and, in my book, previous rejections won't disqualify him though injuries may do.

I wasn't really arsed about the result. I told my mate (a salford boy) that I wanted his lot to win, but that was only because he sends me 'good luck' and 'well done' messages before and after our important games. I managed to sit through the first half but found it hard to stay awake and went to bed at half time. I've just seen the result and it neither makes me happy nor unhappy.

Un-f***ing-believable. The sender of the email was incredibly thick and insensitive. Some things are best not repeated.

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