In 1948 Lyndon B Johnson was being beaten in the election run up by his rich pig farmer neighbour. He told his campaign manager to get out there and accuse him of shaging the pigs.
When the manager said it wasn't true Johnson thought for a moment then said "well let's make the bastard deny it".
And so began modern American politics. Slimey messy politics of the personality. Politics that presume because you did something in your youth you would behave in the same manner as an adult... yeh right. Give me someone who had a great teenage and early adulthood and understands FUN rather than some goddam do gooder.
Bush is a dick, he should turn around and say "of course my dad bought me a commision and an easy ride. for fucks sake which rich daddy didn't?"
And as for Kerry, Stand up man, shout your policy from every roof, and show you are sticking to them. How fucking hard is that?
And by the way you rag-heads who are pointlessly murdering our workers, this is not some weany Spain turncoat bastard you are dealing with... beware, we know where you live and your nice sandpit could easily become a post-nuclear glassy graveyard.

Trevor Francis, just made the first million pound player by Sir Brian, asked him what he should do.

“When you get the ball” said ol’ big head “give it to John Robertson, he’s a much better player than you”.

Now there’s a way of stopping Francis getting too big for his boots!

Cloughie – you don’t have to come from the North East to mourn him.


We’ll never see straight talking simplistic confidence like that again.



RIP Sir Brian.