The Laughing Bluebird
New member
clapham_gull said:
I can't imagine there'd be any need.....
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Attila/John Baine an embarressment
- Thread starter Rob Roy
- Start date
I can't imagine there'd be any need.....
Brighton Breezy
New member
I love the music Attila plays before games and think it is very 'brighton' to have cool, non pop songs played before the games.
The Laughing Bluebird
New member
Richie Morris said:
Out tannoy man regularly plays stuff like the Clash, the Pistols, the Jam, etc. But he doesn't recite poetry.
Brighton Breezy
New member
I dont like the reciting poetry bit but Ive never heard Attila do this.
Could be because
a)Ive been in the pub
b)The tannoy and PA system are really really really shit.
Could be because
a)Ive been in the pub
b)The tannoy and PA system are really really really shit.
clapham_gull
Legacy Fan
- Aug 20, 2003
- 25,877
The Laughing Bluebird said:
Never usually is there ?
Lady Bracknell
Handbag at Dawn
Richie Morris said:
Every now and again he does. But he doesn't make an Eisteddfod out of it.
Brighton Breezy
New member
I guess the poetry is harmless enough.
I am quite happy to put up with that in return for decent music before hand.
I am quite happy to put up with that in return for decent music before hand.
Lady Bracknell
Handbag at Dawn
With respect, Richie. You've managed to "put up with it" quite well so far since you've never actually HEARD any!!!
I am AMAZED that xo many people BIT on this thread.
Atilla has done a lot for this club and 'Goldstone Ghosts' is a great piece of writing...
As bulldozers close in upon our old, beloved home
and those who stand to profit rub their hands
so we gather here together in sad, angry disbelief
and for one last time our voices fill the stands.
This is no happy parting, but a battle-scarred farewell
though victory hopes are mingled with the tears
And I, like you, will stand here as the final whistle blows
with memories which echo down the years.....
The Chelsea fans threw pennies. Old ones. Sharpened. I was eight.
A target in the South Stand with my dad
And he got rather battered as he held me close and tight
and confirmed my view that Chelsea fans were mad!
And there, on those old wooden seats, I learned to love the game.
The sights and sounds exploded in my head.
My dad was proud to have a son with football in his blood -
but two short years later, he was dead.
Eleven. I went on my own. (My friends liked chess and stuff.)
'Now don't go in the North Stand!' said my mum.
But soon I did. Kit Napier's corner curled into the net.
Oh god. The Bournemouth Boot Boys! Better run....
Then Villa in the big crunch game. A thirty thousand crowd.
Bald Lochhead scored, but we still won the day.
Then up, and straight back down again. Brian Powney, brave and squat.
T.Rex, DMs and scarf on wrist, OK?
And then the world was wonderful. Punk rock and Peter Ward!
And sidekick 'Spider' Mellor, tall and lean.
The legendary Walsall game. Promotion. Riding high.
Southampton-Spurs: that stitch-up was obscene.
The final glorious victory. Division One at last!
Arsenal, first game, midst fevered expectation.
Those Highbury gods tore us to shreds; we learned the lesson well.
Steve Foster was our soul and inspiration!
Man City came, and Gerry Ryan waltzed through them to score
And mighty Man United bit the dust.
Notts Forest, and that Williams screamer nearly broke the net.
The Norwich quarter-final: win or bust!
And after Wembley, Liverpool were toppled one last time.
The final curtain on those happy days.
And then the years of gradual, inexorable decline -
sadly for some, the parting of the ways.
But we stayed true, as glory days turned into donkeys' years.
Young, Trusson, Tiltman, Farrington. Ee-aw!
A Wilkins free-kick nearly brought us hope. 'Twas not to be.
The rot was deep and spreading to the core.
We found our voice and Lloyd was gone. Hooray! But worse to come.
Though just how awful we were yet to know.
Dissent turned to rebellion and then to open war
as on the terrace weeds began to grow.
The Goldstone sold behind our backs! Enraged, we rose as one
against a stony northern businessman.
We drew a line, and said: ENOUGH! And as the nation watched
the final battle for our club began.
We fought him to a standstill. Fans United. All for one.
A nation's colours joined: a glorious sight.
And, finally, the stubborn, stony Archer moved his ground
and made way for our own collective Knight.
The battle's only just begun, but we have won the war.
Our club, though torn asunder, will survive.
And I salute each one of you who stood up and said NO!
And fought to keep the Albion alive.
And one day, when our new home's built, and we are storming back
A bunch of happy fans without a care
We'll look back on our darkest hour and raise our glasses high
and say with satisfaction: we were there.
But first we have to face today. The hardest day of all.
Don't worry if you can't hold back the tears!
We must look to the future, in dignity and peace
as well as mourn our home of ninety years.
For me the Goldstone has an extra special memory
of the football soulmate I so briefly had.
He christened me John Charles and taught me to love the game.
This one's for Bill. A poet. And my dad.
Atilla has done a lot for this club and 'Goldstone Ghosts' is a great piece of writing...
As bulldozers close in upon our old, beloved home
and those who stand to profit rub their hands
so we gather here together in sad, angry disbelief
and for one last time our voices fill the stands.
This is no happy parting, but a battle-scarred farewell
though victory hopes are mingled with the tears
And I, like you, will stand here as the final whistle blows
with memories which echo down the years.....
The Chelsea fans threw pennies. Old ones. Sharpened. I was eight.
A target in the South Stand with my dad
And he got rather battered as he held me close and tight
and confirmed my view that Chelsea fans were mad!
And there, on those old wooden seats, I learned to love the game.
The sights and sounds exploded in my head.
My dad was proud to have a son with football in his blood -
but two short years later, he was dead.
Eleven. I went on my own. (My friends liked chess and stuff.)
'Now don't go in the North Stand!' said my mum.
But soon I did. Kit Napier's corner curled into the net.
Oh god. The Bournemouth Boot Boys! Better run....
Then Villa in the big crunch game. A thirty thousand crowd.
Bald Lochhead scored, but we still won the day.
Then up, and straight back down again. Brian Powney, brave and squat.
T.Rex, DMs and scarf on wrist, OK?
And then the world was wonderful. Punk rock and Peter Ward!
And sidekick 'Spider' Mellor, tall and lean.
The legendary Walsall game. Promotion. Riding high.
Southampton-Spurs: that stitch-up was obscene.
The final glorious victory. Division One at last!
Arsenal, first game, midst fevered expectation.
Those Highbury gods tore us to shreds; we learned the lesson well.
Steve Foster was our soul and inspiration!
Man City came, and Gerry Ryan waltzed through them to score
And mighty Man United bit the dust.
Notts Forest, and that Williams screamer nearly broke the net.
The Norwich quarter-final: win or bust!
And after Wembley, Liverpool were toppled one last time.
The final curtain on those happy days.
And then the years of gradual, inexorable decline -
sadly for some, the parting of the ways.
But we stayed true, as glory days turned into donkeys' years.
Young, Trusson, Tiltman, Farrington. Ee-aw!
A Wilkins free-kick nearly brought us hope. 'Twas not to be.
The rot was deep and spreading to the core.
We found our voice and Lloyd was gone. Hooray! But worse to come.
Though just how awful we were yet to know.
Dissent turned to rebellion and then to open war
as on the terrace weeds began to grow.
The Goldstone sold behind our backs! Enraged, we rose as one
against a stony northern businessman.
We drew a line, and said: ENOUGH! And as the nation watched
the final battle for our club began.
We fought him to a standstill. Fans United. All for one.
A nation's colours joined: a glorious sight.
And, finally, the stubborn, stony Archer moved his ground
and made way for our own collective Knight.
The battle's only just begun, but we have won the war.
Our club, though torn asunder, will survive.
And I salute each one of you who stood up and said NO!
And fought to keep the Albion alive.
And one day, when our new home's built, and we are storming back
A bunch of happy fans without a care
We'll look back on our darkest hour and raise our glasses high
and say with satisfaction: we were there.
But first we have to face today. The hardest day of all.
Don't worry if you can't hold back the tears!
We must look to the future, in dignity and peace
as well as mourn our home of ninety years.
For me the Goldstone has an extra special memory
of the football soulmate I so briefly had.
He christened me John Charles and taught me to love the game.
This one's for Bill. A poet. And my dad.
The Large One
Who's Next?
'Goldstone Ghosts' - best football poem ever written.
Storer68
New member
Rob Roy said:
Fan-tastic
Worthing Seagull
New member
- Jul 11, 2003
- 2
it seems to me that unless you have thousands of posts or are part of the clique, anybody else's posts are dismissed as rubbish or that you are less of a supporter and not entitlted to an opinion.
My opinion is if you have time to post thousands of messages is get a life, i think attila does some good but as the first post said prancing through the village etc reading a poem and playing the flute, does no good whatsoever , except look a twat , brick through the window would of been much more satisfiing.
by the way being a supporter for 30 years gives me more of an
opinion than some sad spotty young urchin sitting behind a pc thinking they are Mr or Mrs Brighton and Hove Albion
I thank you.
I dont think i will add 20 smilies just the one
My opinion is if you have time to post thousands of messages is get a life, i think attila does some good but as the first post said prancing through the village etc reading a poem and playing the flute, does no good whatsoever , except look a twat , brick through the window would of been much more satisfiing.
by the way being a supporter for 30 years gives me more of an
opinion than some sad spotty young urchin sitting behind a pc thinking they are Mr or Mrs Brighton and Hove Albion
I thank you.
I dont think i will add 20 smilies just the one
Worthing Seagull said:it seems to me that unless you have thousands of posts or are part of the clique, anybody else's posts are dismissed as rubbish or that you are less of a supporter and not entitlted to an opinion.
My opinion is if you have time to post thousands of messages is get a life, i think attila does some good but as the first post said prancing through the village etc reading a poem and playing the flute, does no good whatsoever , except look a twat , brick through the window would of been much more satisfiing.
by the way being a supporter for 30 years gives me more of an
opinion than some sad spotty young urchin sitting behind a pc thinking they are Mr or Mrs Brighton and Hove Albion
I thank you.
I dont think i will add 20 smilies just the one
Pipe down, Johnny 1 post.
Worthing Seagull said:it seems to me that unless you have thousands of posts or are part of the clique, anybody else's posts are dismissed as rubbish or that you are less of a supporter and not entitlted to an opinion.
My opinion is if you have time to post thousands of messages is get a life, i think attila does some good but as the first post said prancing through the village etc reading a poem and playing the flute, does no good whatsoever , except look a twat , brick through the window would of been much more satisfiing.
by the way being a supporter for 30 years gives me more of an
opinion than some sad spotty young urchin sitting behind a pc thinking they are Mr or Mrs Brighton and Hove Albion
I thank you.
I dont think i will add 20 smilies just the one
*snigger*
Worthing Seagull
New member
- Jul 11, 2003
- 2
ChapmansThe Saviour said:
tats exactly what i was talking about muppet
Dick Knights Mumm
Take me Home Falmer Road
two posts ? now you are almost in the clique ..............