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Let he who was not a shitgibbon as a teenager cast the first stone*
Police close in on master criminals EXCLUSIVE! BY SIMON FUCKWIT Police are tonight closing in on a gang of South London yoofs who stole a sign from Maidstone East railway station, after friends posted private pictures of them with the metalwork, boasting about their achievements. The grand theft took place following Maidstone United's shock 1-0 victory over the title contenders this afternoon, courtesy of a second half Stuart Lewis strike. The yoofs, in a baffling display of bravado, then flaunted their heist under the noses of Southern Railway by boarding a London bound service with the item. It is not yet known what became of the haul, but with CCTV a prominent feature on all trains and platforms, it is not expected to take the British Transport Police (BTP) long to recover the item and identify the brains behind this crack criminal outfit. ﷯ Early warning signs as to the intentions of the gang were given in the nearby watering hole, The Society Rooms, a W*****rspoons inn just a stone's throw from the station. Spunktrumpetistic behaviour and 'stickering' - a form of graffiti popularised by Margate back in 2016, proved a precursor the later heist. The story first came to light when Max Camillion - who may or may not have been involved with the raid - shared a picture he received over Snapchat - a multimedia messaging app where users can share images, videos, and messages for a short time before they disappear - amongst friends. The image showed the culprit with the plunderage, with the caption "WE STOLE THE SIGN FROM THE STADIUM AHHAAHGAHAH" (ahhaahgahah is used to imply he is laughing at his crime, whilst the claim that the sign was stolen from the stadium was no doubt used to improve his kudos for the felony, as popularised by video games such as Grand Theft Auto, and Grand Theft Auto V.) The picture was then widely circulated over the social networking service Twitter, by 'Callum', where it went Viral. Callum proceded to profess the innocence of Camillion, who had previously been suspected of being the adolescent in the snap. Another acquaintance of the culprit - Harry Yellen - then weighed in with the confession that he witnessed the event and would by happy to provide further information by way of a direct message - a private message between Twitter users - and one can only assume that the BTP will be speaking to both him and Camillion as they continue their investigation. Anybody with any further information on this crime are urged to contact the British Transport Police on 0800 40 50 40, ir via text to 61016 quoting their crime reference 555 17/03 The investigation continues
El Plastico 6 (or is it 9?): Generic Preview Bollocks
Yes, the "Bollocks" is back, reflecting on chemical warfare, twitter warfare, Johhny Hates Jazz and a Plastico that has somehow become a relegation derby even though one of the participants is in the play-off zone. Well what a week it’s been ladies and gentlemen, what a week it’s been. We witnessed the most sickening, unpunished assault to take place in Salisbury since Matt Tubbs got James Peacock sent off in 2010. We witnessed our Defence Secretary, a man who makes Prince Edward look like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, respond to said assault by telling Russia to “shut up and go away,” which might make him sound like a 10-year-old who's just had sand kicked in his face by a school bully but was at least significantly cleaner than Peacock’s response to his red card. We witnessed Top Man withdraw a red top with the number 96 on the back and the words “karma” and “what goes around.” They apologised and claimed it was inspired by a Bob Marley track, perhaps omitting to say the track in question was co-written with Bernard Ingham and Kelvin Mackenzie. We witnessed West Ham’s fans going “The full Willis.” We witnessed the BBC mark Stephen Hawking’s passing by getting John Humphrys to ask Brian Cox if The Hawk was “cut some slack because he was disabled”. And as an antidote to this towering mediocrity we witnessed Mike Mills, bass player and peerless harmonist of one of the greatest groups of all time, wade into the Dulwich Hamlet debacle, raining shame down on satanic property developers Meadow (yes, really). ﷯ Christ. Ever rammed an electric cattle prod into a bull’s testicles? No, me neither, but if I did I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t feign outrage if, say, the aforementioned bull charged at me, gored my thorax and trampled my skull causing permanent brain damage. I’ve never tried to feign outrage after being spat at by the Scouser I was baiting and filming while driving with one hand on the wheel and another on my mobile either. Nor have I ever felt compelled to contact the Daily Mirror with footage of said globule flying in the vague direction of my vacant passenger seat, all the while claiming it was targeted at the 14-year-old in the back seat whose life I was risking by filming, driving and scouser-baiting all at once, but there we are. Spitting isn’t cricket of course and “Carra” manfully refused to use what’s known as “The Richard Monks defence," apologising profusely. As a result he was suspended to the end of the season, by a company which has entirely different standards when it comes to handling teenage girls, especially when they’ve been murdered. The real media spat (see what I did there?) of the week was right here in the Jardin d’Angleterre, where 13 miles down the road, Tonbridge are having exactly the same season they’ve been having for the past 70 years. They won’t go up, they won’t go down and whatever happens the same 400 people will turn up to watch, including the bloke with the beard, beret and pipe who turns up at JWW whenever their pitch is flooded. On Saturday they were leading 1-0 in the 89th minute when Worthing somehow managed to Tranmere a couple of late goals. This went down about as well as you’d expect, and in the nightmare of bitterness and recrimination that followed, Kentish Football produced a characteristically pithy 6000-word match report which included a throwaway reference to a 17-year-old not being up to the standard required of the Bostik Premier League. This is how freedom of speech works. KF have the right to hammer a 17-year-old. The 17-year-old’s manager has the right to hammer KF, for hammering said 17-year-old. The Tunbridge Wells twitter account has the right to wade in and say this: ﷯ We have the right to point out that this is possibly easier said than done and that perhaps the best way to deal with this situation is to suggest that if you’re 17 years old and good enough to play for Tonbridge, it’s statistically likely you’ll grow up to be more athletic, better-looking and successful in the future than any of the unfit, middle-aged white men writing for KF and that you therefore probably shouldn’t worry too much about a report read by 200 people. It’s also KF’s right to point out that he hadn’t murdered anyone and that, Carragher-style, he’d apologised. And it’s our right to point out there’s something slightly fucked up about a world where a man can make an honest apology for a minor fuck-up and get told he should stop “hanging around schools," while another man can refuse to apologise for a once-in-a-generation fuck-up and get made Foreign Secretary. These are the breaks. All of which finally brings us to “Plastico 6”, to wit, the sixth encounter between Maidstone and Sutton since Sutton laid their 3G surface. Or should it be Plastico 9, given that we’ve played Bromley twice on 3G this season and Sutton have played them once? Whatever, earlier this season, when the possibility of Maidstone making the play-offs still seemed realistic, I was asked about the risk a team would get relegated for winning promotion. At the time I naively replied that this concept was “insane” and that common sense would have to prevail. Au contraire. There are precedents for refusing promotion to the Football League. Macclesfield and Stevenage were both told to “fuck off” after winning the Conference during the 90s, apparently on the flimsy grounds that their stadia were sub-standard. (This, inevitably, was all our fault.) Refusing promotion was deemed sufficient punishment for the gratuitous act of winning the title. In this crueller, more ruthless age, that no longer cuts enough ice. Platico 6(9) has effectively become the most demented relegation derby ever invented, a game where it is now effectively in both sides’ interests for Maidstone to win so that we both avoid the drop. Every now and again the game throws up a situation where results can be mutually convenient: the Anschluss match in the 1982 World Cup where the West Germans and Austrians played out a 1-0 win so both would qualify. The 2-2 between Sweden and Denmark at Euro 2004 which magically knocked out Italy. The 7-0 between Maidstone and Greenways during the 2000-01 County League season when it was rumoured that (CENSORED). Never has a league contrived a situation where success is punished and failure rewarded like this. And please, don’t give us the “you knew the rules ... " shit, because if we’d listened to that we’d still be in the Isthmian League, doomed to Tonbridge our way through identical seasons for the rest of eternity. Doswell has done us a few favours in the last year or so by loaning us players. Now it’s time to return that favour by beating his team and starting a run that sends them spinning out of the promotion race, so we can do it all again next year. Team news? Fuck knows. We can’t play Lafayette and Beckwith has gone back to Sutton. The Big Wave is suspended. Otherwise, not a clue. We’ll leave you with the Sutton Celebrity XI and the Random Anniversary Shit. Sutton Celebrity XI 1) Neil Sullivan 2) Noel Coward (loan from Dover) 3) Kate Melua 4) Sir Harry Secombe 5) Clark “Johnny Hates Jazz” Datchler 6) David Bellamy 7) Tony Barton 8) Quentin Crisp 9) Joan Armatrading 10) Martin Adams 11) Joanna Roswell Let's segue into a BT Sport style-link here. Cue Natalie: "Sutton have been on course for promotion all season. But will the Football League's latest 3G decision lead to Shattered Dreams?" ﷯ Random Anniversary Shit March 17th, 1990 Division Four Burnley 1 (Golley og) Maidstone United 1 (Gall) Maidstone: Johns, Barton, Cooper, Galliers, Oxbrow, Golley, Gall, Elsey, Lillis, Rumble, Charlery Subs: Pearce, Roast March 17th 2001 Inter-Regional Challenge Cup Maidstone United 0 Snodland 1 Gate: 249. March 17th, 2012 Isthmian South Whitehawk 2 (Fish 61, Hughes 76) Maidstone United 2 (Welford 21, 37) Maidstone: John Whitehouse, Tommy Osborne, Tom Mills, Sam Groombridge, Graeme Andrews, Danny Lye, Ellis Green (Baff Addae 84), Sam Bewick, Shaun Welford (Alex Waugh 84), Ben Davisson (Jay Saunders 88), Karl Murray. Subs not used: Gavin Greenfield, Sam Hasler. Gate: 110.
You sexy motherfucker ...
First of all ladies and gentlemen, show the team and the management some love for a 1-0 win against a very good side they made look very ordinary. Do it. They deserve it. If you’re reading this congratulate yourself, because you deserve it too. Now, if you want a standard “in the 13th minute” match report you need to look elsewhere, because this will be about many things, with the game largely incidental. By staying on this site you consent to joining us in our Delorean, as we plot a course for a very dark place indeed … *John 8:7. MAIDSTONE UNITED 1 SUTTON UNITED 0 Match Report by Candy Crush Snowden It’s March 5th 1991, and the venue is Stonebridge Road. Football League Maidstone, under new manager Graham Carr, are losing a Kent Senior Cup tie, 2-1, to Southern League Gravesend & Northfleet. Only 858 people have turned up and some of those that have are wearing Gillingham FC gear. When Maidstone’s black players, Mark Gall, Liburd Henry and Ken Charlery, touch the ball, they make monkey noises. The looks on their faces as they do this are joyous. In their own way they’re having a great time, feeding off the outrage they’re creating all around them. (Triggering the snowflakes, as Trump’s uberscheissegibbon Steve Bannon will later call it.) Will life ever get better for them? These people will soon vote. They will also breed. It doesn’t take a huge leap of the imagination to imagine how a life like this pans out. A fumbling sexual encounter with a Vicky Pollard behind a bus shelter on the Davis Estate, a father at 17, a joyless marriage, an equally joyless divorce and a lifetime of CSA payments for the extra babies Ms Pollard popped out at regular intervals in the meantime. And all that resentment needs an outlet... 27 years later, history repeated itself. Just before noon yesterday, Gillingham v Blackburn was called off on questionable health and safety grounds, with 1200 Blackburn fans already approaching the venue. A handful of alleged Gillingham fans decided to “go Maidstone” as the new, preposition-free, vernacular has it. We can guess what happened. They hopped on a 101. They drank in a Tim Martin boozer. And they bought six seats for seven people in the Main Stand. These boys could easily be the result of some unprotected beans-up-muff action between Ms Pollard and the monkey-chanters. ﷯ From here we no longer need to guess as we have eyewitness accounts. The seven engaged in general shitgibbonry. They started saying things like “go home” when Jamar Loza, Alex Wynter and Blair Turgott touched the ball. That wasn’t enough to get them ejected, but when they started smoking, the stewards acted, throwing them out. These boys are clearly more likely to cause cancer than they are to cure it. Yes, the rubbish is piling up in the streets in more than one sense ladies and gentlemen. The route to the ground was littered with over-spilling recycling bins, a hangover from the first Beast From The East. It’s sequel provided a dusting of snow and probably the coldest matchday conditions we’ve ever experienced at JWW, with a chill factor of minus seven, roughly equivalent to an average afternoon in Sittingbourne. In conditions like this it’s reasonable to ask: who wants it more, Clive? Who’s got the arsehole? Some players wore base layers and gloves, which some football supporters believe makes you homosexual. Others relied on their Sheerness Arm Warmers to keep out the cold. And on this coldest matchday of the year, Saunders, Paxman, Prestedge and Lewis had all shaved their heads for charity, with the latter ruining his chances of a dual career as an Emmanuel Macron lookalike. The game got underway. Sutton perhaps shaded the opening few minutes, then we started to get on top. The best move of the half resulted in the game’s biggest controversy, as play switched to the right flank. Krishna floated in a high-quality cross, Gianfranco leapt to glance it in the far corner. The offside flag stayed down and Sutton’s players looked visibly dejected, only to perk up when a camp two-handed gesture from the referee informed them he’d seen a push they hadn’t even appealed for. Sutton carved out a chance. It was blocked by arsehole. Not by an arsehole you’ll note, but by sheer arsehole. Sir Tom seemed to have been fouled in the box. “Fuck off,” said the ref. The game went into a lull, but it was a pleasant lull, the kind that allows you to reflect on the fact you’re matching a side second in the league table. Someone passed the time by lobbing a chip on to the pitch for the seagulls to eat. The government advises against this kind of behaviour as it can apparently play havoc with their innards, so maybe his ejection was performed by a steward with a keen interest in animal welfare. Half-time came. The temperature plunged like a £140,000 hooker onto the viagra-enhanced orange member of a US president. Dress like this when the wind chill is minus eight and you’re practically auditioning for a Darwin Award. ﷯ The nagging thought occurred that Sutton were unlikely to be that ineffective over the next 45 minutes, but on the one occasion when they really opened us up Craig “used to play for Arsenal” Eastmond Arsenal-ed his shot about a yard wide. WDH headed over. For the first time in months a 0-0 looked not only possible, but probable. And then a moment of class from the man who used to look like Emmanuel Macron. After a surging run nearly played in Gianfranco, Sutton failed to Row Z the ball to safety. Turgo regained possession, and laid the ball off. With only a spilt second to make a decision Huey pivoted and opted to go for the bottom corner. He found it, before peeling off to celebrate with the Town End. If anything we looked more to get a second than they did to equalise, but after coming zipfastnerinjuringly close when influential French midfielder J’ai Raison just showed too much of the ball to the keeeeepaaaaaaaahhhhhh in a one-on-one, they shat us right up in stoppage time. After pumping a series of balls into the box, all of which we repelled reasonably well, one fell to Louis John. As 2000 people collectively shat their load, John took aim and fired a yard over the bar. If we can make a side like Sutton look that average (for the second time this season), maybe we aren’t actually that bad at all. Maybe we never were. Afterwards the celebrations felt strangely muted, although that may have had something to do with half the people in the ground suffering from hypothermic sepsis. Other than the ejectees, hardly anyone seemed to leave early, though again this may have been due to their buttocks freezing into the seats. Most of Sutton’s fans made their way peacefully back to the West Country, but a handful of yoofs just couldn’t help themselves, taking half of a sign from Maidstone East as a trophy and then, brilliantly, posing for a photo on social media. It’s difficult to tell what’s fake and what’s real on Twitter but it seems possible a couple of these yoofs have had a moment of clarity, realised they may well have committed criminal damage and are now actively seeking to atone after a sleepless night. ﷯ They could, of course, be taking the piss, but if they can feel shame, there may be hope. I’m not convinced there is any hope for the evicted smokers. Perhaps they know, deep down, that the 37 seconds of frottage they enjoyed with a kappaslapper in a Walderslade playground may be as good as life ever gets for them. And perhaps, in the year 2034, the result of that 37 seconds will be getting thrown out of a football ground for racially aggravated shitgibbonry. Or, even more seriously, throwing a fucking chip at a seagull...