Got an email from a good Canadian drinking buddy of mine this morning who I haven't heard from in a while and naturally, as you do, i mentioned that unlike for the last few car-crash seasons that maybe he'd enjoy having a look at LFC this time out. Everything about the way Kenny is carrrying himself is just filling me with that belief.... The King is smiling, he's smiling ALL THE TIME, I fucking love it.
Now perhaps on here my naturally miserable nature shines through more than it deserves to, and I probably do tend to overstate and see things very simply, opinionatedly perhaps, and maybe this thread should have been started by a sunshiner like Oncy but....
That grin of kennys, that glinty twinkle thing he does with eyes.... after 30 odd years of him being my hero maybe its just man-love but.... I just reckon that that King of ours is pumping our team so full of confidence that it is literally infectious, whats more i reckon he probably learnt it from a man who knew all about motivation.
So instead of reading Werthers original quotes which completely miss the charisma of hope, how about thinking about Kenny smiling to himself all glinty and read this:
Prior to the game, Shankly had received the United team sheet and he incorporated it into his team talk. His intention was to run us down and, in so doing, boost the confidence of his own players. 'Alex Stepney,' Shanks began. 'A flapper of a goalkeeper. Hands like a Teflon frying pan - non-stick. Right back, Shay Brennan. Slow on the turn, give him a roasting. Left back is Tony Dunne. Even slower than Brennan. He goes on an overlap at twenty past three and doesn't come back until a quarter to four. Right half, Nobby Stiles. A dirty little -beep-. Kick him twice as hard as he kicks you and you'll have no trouble with him.'
'Bill Foulkes, a big, cumbersome centre half who can't direct his headers. He had a head like a sheriff's badge, so play on him. Paddy Crerand. Slower than steam rising off a dog turd. You'll bypass him easily.' The Liverpool players felt as if they were growing in stature with his every word. 'David Sadler,' Shanks continued. 'Wouldn't get a place in our reserves. And finally, John Aston. A chicken, hit him once and you'll never hear from him again. As the manager finished his demolition job on United, Emlyn Hughes raised his hand. 'That's all very well, boss,' he said, 'but you haven't mentioned George Best, Denis Law or Bobby Charlton.' Shanks turned on him. 'You mean to tell me we can't beat a team that has only three players in it?' he said, glowering."
You see I reckon that Kenny, silly ol' smiling fool that he is, King Kenny isn't even considering finishing anywhere but first and i reckon he's probably pointing out the same to that massively strengthened team of ours...
settling for second is for cunts.
Sunshiner Molby reporting for duty.
Lets do these fucking no-marks.
Now perhaps on here my naturally miserable nature shines through more than it deserves to, and I probably do tend to overstate and see things very simply, opinionatedly perhaps, and maybe this thread should have been started by a sunshiner like Oncy but....
That grin of kennys, that glinty twinkle thing he does with eyes.... after 30 odd years of him being my hero maybe its just man-love but.... I just reckon that that King of ours is pumping our team so full of confidence that it is literally infectious, whats more i reckon he probably learnt it from a man who knew all about motivation.
So instead of reading Werthers original quotes which completely miss the charisma of hope, how about thinking about Kenny smiling to himself all glinty and read this:
Prior to the game, Shankly had received the United team sheet and he incorporated it into his team talk. His intention was to run us down and, in so doing, boost the confidence of his own players. 'Alex Stepney,' Shanks began. 'A flapper of a goalkeeper. Hands like a Teflon frying pan - non-stick. Right back, Shay Brennan. Slow on the turn, give him a roasting. Left back is Tony Dunne. Even slower than Brennan. He goes on an overlap at twenty past three and doesn't come back until a quarter to four. Right half, Nobby Stiles. A dirty little -beep-. Kick him twice as hard as he kicks you and you'll have no trouble with him.'
'Bill Foulkes, a big, cumbersome centre half who can't direct his headers. He had a head like a sheriff's badge, so play on him. Paddy Crerand. Slower than steam rising off a dog turd. You'll bypass him easily.' The Liverpool players felt as if they were growing in stature with his every word. 'David Sadler,' Shanks continued. 'Wouldn't get a place in our reserves. And finally, John Aston. A chicken, hit him once and you'll never hear from him again. As the manager finished his demolition job on United, Emlyn Hughes raised his hand. 'That's all very well, boss,' he said, 'but you haven't mentioned George Best, Denis Law or Bobby Charlton.' Shanks turned on him. 'You mean to tell me we can't beat a team that has only three players in it?' he said, glowering."
You see I reckon that Kenny, silly ol' smiling fool that he is, King Kenny isn't even considering finishing anywhere but first and i reckon he's probably pointing out the same to that massively strengthened team of ours...
settling for second is for cunts.
Sunshiner Molby reporting for duty.
Lets do these fucking no-marks.
