Slipperduke
The Camden Cad
I fear I may have missed the boat here, but I caught a bit of Bravo's 'The Real Football Factories' the other night.
What the f%&k was that all about?
It was like porn for morons.
Some little bloke in glasses, who I swear voiced Kent Paul in GTA - Vice City, wanders around dire northern pubs talking to a variety of 'Top Boys' who all seemed to be 40-50, fat and in various states of mental disrepair.
The content of the interviews stunned me into silence, which is a rare thing.
"It's all about honour," one of them burped, as if throwing stones at coaches full of women and children was just like throwing yourself on a grenade in the trenches.
"We all look after each other," he grunted as CCTV footage of two men amateurishly hitting each other while their friends scappered, played in the background.
My favourite moment was when Kent Paul, and that voice must be a put-on, visited Cardiff.
"These boys," he knees-up-mother-browned, "are the real daddys. What they get...is respect. Women, drugs, nightclubs; they don't pay for a thing."
And all this set to footage of a veriety of knuckle-dragging, burberry herbets wandering about sticking their tongues out at each other. Christ, what a celebration of human achievement.
What were Bravo hoping to achieve? The whole programme couldn't have glorified football hoolganism any more without dressing up Kent Paul in a burberry tracksuit and making him shout, "It's fun to fight" repeatedly down a megaphone.
Am I getting old?
What the f%&k was that all about?
It was like porn for morons.
Some little bloke in glasses, who I swear voiced Kent Paul in GTA - Vice City, wanders around dire northern pubs talking to a variety of 'Top Boys' who all seemed to be 40-50, fat and in various states of mental disrepair.
The content of the interviews stunned me into silence, which is a rare thing.
"It's all about honour," one of them burped, as if throwing stones at coaches full of women and children was just like throwing yourself on a grenade in the trenches.
"We all look after each other," he grunted as CCTV footage of two men amateurishly hitting each other while their friends scappered, played in the background.
My favourite moment was when Kent Paul, and that voice must be a put-on, visited Cardiff.
"These boys," he knees-up-mother-browned, "are the real daddys. What they get...is respect. Women, drugs, nightclubs; they don't pay for a thing."
And all this set to footage of a veriety of knuckle-dragging, burberry herbets wandering about sticking their tongues out at each other. Christ, what a celebration of human achievement.
What were Bravo hoping to achieve? The whole programme couldn't have glorified football hoolganism any more without dressing up Kent Paul in a burberry tracksuit and making him shout, "It's fun to fight" repeatedly down a megaphone.
Am I getting old?
