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In one....yes yes another chaves-sporting, Czech striker Tomás Skuhravy were near to score a goal when he was ready to kick the ball to the goal the light went off at the stadium, 10 seconds then the light went on again but the ball disapeared:eek:
 

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when the dogs used to run on the pitch :eek: no not Victoria Beckham ;)

as Half Man Half Biscuit sang....."Even Men with Steel Hearts love to see a dog on the pitch" :D
 

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A dog ran onto the pitch during the 1962 World Cup match between England and Brazil, Jimmy Greaves tried to catch the errant animal and got peed on. :eek::D England lost 3-1, and Greaves, when interviewd in 2002 (I think), said he really ought to have won that match for England, since after the peeing incident nobody wanted to go near him. :tongue:

And Terry Butcher's bloody heroics - with more gore and blood than an entire screening of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. A truly stomach-churning effort. Enjoy. :cool:
 

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dogs regularly used to run on the pitch in the 50s,60s,70s,80s and 90s,really til the terracing got pulled down, when blokes used to be allowed in with their pets,it was a truly great spectacle,to see the dog bounding round and nick the ball of the centre forward,do a Cruyff turn,dribble a bit more with his nose as the crowd roared him on,then just as the copper got near,the little rascal would leave the ball and jump over the fence at the exact point he came on and dive into the arms of his owner. :D

probably the most joyous moments in my life have come from watching dogs running about on a pitch ;)
 

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Alive&Kicking said:
And Terry Butcher's bloody heroics - with more gore and blood than an entire screening of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. A truly stomach-churning effort. Enjoy. :cool:
That was a classic, it was in a game against Sweden, a friendly I think. Especially so since he named "Butcher"... :D

Another classic is when the Lazio fans storm the arena and take the shirts and shorts from the players. They have to finish the match with new shirts, I think there was 3-4 couto on the pitch. ;)
 

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JKris said:
That was a classic, it was in a game against Sweden, a friendly I think.
No, it was a crucial world cup qualifying match for Italia 90, which makes his actions even more heroic. :)
 

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Since we're on Terry Butcher, check out this post moaning about the state of footballers nowadays as compared to the hard men in the ol' days. It was originally posted by Russell in the Sheffield United / Sheffield Wednesday thread, he got it from the Sheffield Wednesday website I think.

A very good read... :tongue:

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Actual post on Sheffield Wednesday website...

November 29 2002 at 2:02 PM Anonymous (no login) from IP address

212.120.136.146

"I'm feeling all angry about these modern day footballers, I know why they have gone all soft - It's because of poncy names. That's what it is.

Remember in the old days, when foot players kicked a f**king ball made out of ten pound of clay stitched inside a steel-reinforced leather shell with laces made out of piano wire? Well, in them days players could only survive the rigours of the game because they were called things like Albert, Arthur, Bert, Harry, Bill, Eddie, Bob, Jack and Tommy. F*cking tough names for tough men, them was.

And what do we have now? Jason, Wayne, Dean, Ryan, Jamie,
Robbie. F*cking tarts' names, they are. Great big f*cking puffs. No wonder the ball's like a f*cking balloon and shin pads is like slices of bread. In the old days you never saw a Len Shackleton or a Billy Wright with a puffy little Sondico piece of paper down his little thin socks.

F*cking shinpads in them days was made out of library books, and socks was like sackcloth. Same with the jerseys. F*cking shirts with holes in now so they can breathe. Yes, so that little Jody's hairless chest can breathe and he doesn't get a chill. F**k off. Stanley Matthews used to dribble round Europe's finest wearing a f*cking tent and shorts cobbled together from the jacket of his de-mob suit. Aye,he f*cking did. No wonder players fall over all the time whenever an opponent comes anywhere near them. And they never used to show their arses at one another either.

Can you imagine what might have happened if Don Revie had flashed his ring at Nat Lofthouse during a City-Bolton Wanderers game? He'd have got one of them size 10 hobnail f*ckers up his b*stard chuff.

F*cking therapy for stress my arse! Stan Collymore slaps his missus about and he takes three seasons off with stress counselling. What the f*ck is that all about? In the old days it was expected for footballers to belt the old sow about a bit, specially after a bad defeat. And the women used to expect it, and so they should have. They was lucky to be married to footballers.

Ha! Trevor Morley got a kitchen knife in his back off his wife and was out of action for three months. Soft tw*t. Archie McShitt of Port Vale got run over with horse and cart one Friday night and he still turned out against Bradford the following day. And he scored two goals. That's cos his name wasn't "Trevor". Good old Archie. Broke his hip, both his legs, murdered his wife and buried her under the patio and still made the England team for the Home Internationals. Did he have any "stress counselling"? Did he b*llocks!

And drugs? There was none of that in the old days. Oh, no. In them days it was a quick shot of morphine before kick-off and you was lucky if you got that. By half-time it had all but wore off so they pumped you full of laudanum. None of this cocaine sniffing and shooting up class A narcotics.

Goal celebrations? Don't talk to me about goal celebrations. Crawling on the floor and thrusting their hips at the crowd. Huh! I'd like to have seen Cliff Bastin do that after a run down the left flank and crossing for Alex James to fire home a winner. Handshakes... and that was all you got. That and a w*nk in the showers afterwards. But it was a proper w*nk...all man stuff. None of these puffy w*nks between blokes that you get nowadays with players like Greame Le Saux and Stephen Gerrard. Allegedly, in them days,there was nowt wrong with it cos it didn't mean nowt. They used to say there was a "gay atmosphere" in the dressing room after the match. But it didn't mean owt mucky. Just a bit of harmless spanking the plank among healthy young sportsmen. Aye. I know. Me dad told me.

Sixty grand a f*cking week! Ha! I wouldn't pay 'em tuppence. Two bob Tommy Lawton used to get...a month! And Tom Finney still worked as a plumber four days a week when he was playing for England. It's true, you know. F*cking is. Players had to work them days just to make up their money. Not like today. Stan Pearson had to clean sewers and doubled up as Old Trafford shithouse cleaner. He had to go off during one game because some c**t had built a log cabin and blocked the U-bend. And that Eddie Hapgood was a male model...though he never liked to talk about it.

So I say we start calling kids real male names again. If you're having a kid, don't even consider puffy names and sh*te names like what people call their kids these days.

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:howler::D
 
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