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You tend to give up when we go behind.

I care more about winning the league than kietas personal improvement. He wouldn't start for me now, wait until we are in comfortable positions in games then bring him on.

They have to go. For good. All of them.

This from Bascombe made me laugh Roy Hodgson has never had a side play so well at Anfield, which is some achievement given that he once was the manager here.

Never met my Dad's father. I literally know nothing about him. My Dad told me more about Bill Shankly than my own grandad. My mum had two dad's. Her biological dad who died before I was born was shot in the war and only had one lung. He was sent to a recovery hospital in Hoylake and died when my Mum was young. My Nan remarried to a fella who ran his own transport company and was quite well off. He was also in the war in numerous places. My dad told me that they were in a pub in Blackpool once and this fella with a false leg marched over to him and hugged him. My grandad looked at him and asked him what he was doing. The fella said "i was on the beach in Dunkirk and had my leg blown off, you picked me up and carried me off the beach when bullets were flying everywhere". My grandad asked him how he knew it was him. He said "your nose mate, your nose is fucking massive and it's the one thing I remembered before I passed out in agonising pain". Apparently this fella had been trying to trace him for years. He was a harsh fella though and the tightest cunt you could have ever met. Probably where my ma gets it from. When he died and his house got sold I got £500. Me and my mate decided to go to Munich for a beer and footy weekend. My ma called me disrespectful by spending his money going to Germany as he'd nearly died countless times fighting them!

My Mum''s Dad died a few months after they migrated to Australia from Germany in 1954. She was 10. My Croatian Grand Father, Dad's Dad, I only met once when I visited Yugoslavia in 1975. He was born in the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. My step grandfather was an ace bloke, who made the best ever Sunday morning breakfasts when I used to stay at his house on a Saturday night with Mum and Dad out at a dance. It was kind of bubble and squeak leftovers from the week, belly pork bacon and fried eggs. He and I ate it straight out of the cast iron frying pay, with just a fork each. When he died, I took the frying pan.

I'm staunchly opposed to the guy politically and I think he carries a significant amount of blame for the assholic superfight negotations with Floyd*, but we really have been privileged to watch Manny Pacquiao fight. From the night he freely assaulted Barerra and left that All-time-great fighter in a heap to him destroying Hatton and 10 years later still kicking ass at the top of one boxing's deepest divisions - we have seen one of the top 20-30 guys to ever lace them up. Manny is 40-years-old and he doesn't even box full time for a living, anymore. He has another full time job, and he's the next presumptive president of an 80m+ populated country. Put aside Barrera, Morales, Marquez, Cotto, De La Hoya. Just in the last 5 years, this fella has beaten the shit out of Jeff Horn, Jessie Vargas, Tim Bradley, Lucas Matthysse and Adrien Broner. Terrence Crawford and Errol Spence are widely regarded as being P4P fighters and they cannot come close to the level of opposition, that's how good he is. *The Mayweather fight should have happened in 2010, and I will never forgive either fighter for the bullshit they pulled to stop it happening. We should have had our Ali-Frazier and instead of this once in a lifetime fight, we got primadonna cuntishness that has influenced an entire generation of Haymon fighters, evidenced by the chickenshit state of the welterweight division, god forbid anyone take on a real challenge.

The thing for me is that I'm so desperate for us to win it, I genuinely can't enjoy it and I really really want to. I went to my first match in 1977 so I've seen some of the greatest Liverpool sides to ever grace a pitch, but if we win it this year it will be up there with the best of them. Reason being, in times of financial doping, to do what we've done when we've had to sell to buy is nothing short of remarkable. We are in a great position and looking at the remaining fixtures, City have it all to do. 2014 was soul destroying but this would hurt so much more. No doubt City have the better individuals but we have the better team. It's the sum of the parts etc etc. I really do need to stop drinking.

Drink the poison first

I unfortunately did not get to experience the massive benefits of having a grandad. Due to family circumstances, war and illness I missed out on 4 of them, unlucky I know. But the best I can do its be a great influence on my two grandchildren. The eldest is five, she is amazing and makes me laugh, she really is a light in my life. If it had not been for her and the laughter she brings it would have been very difficult navigating a recent tragedy in my life. We go out on Grandad and Granddaughter days out as often as her school holidays allow. Or I buy her some arts and crafts type stuff and she makes a massive mess of my daughter's home. I thought being a dad was fun, it was and is. Being a grandad is millions of times better.

I only meant to type something brief. I've put it behind NSFW tags for those who don't want sentimentalist clap-trap forced on them... Warning! The following content is NOT WORK SAFE. Click the Show button to reveal. This is how I remember it. Maybe it didn't happen exactky like this. But this is how I remember it. My dad isn't in to footy. He's a quiet guy. Enjoys having his family around him. Likes a bit of gardening. I was like him in a lot of ways, but in others I was very different. I supported Liverpool. I loved footy. We weren't skint but we weren't loaded. I had a red and white hat and scarf - and my pride and joy a leather Liverpool football with red and white hexagons. An actual casey. I had seen the games on Telly and I had decided that I wanted to be part of it. The swaying crowd. The singing. However those crowds were my dad's nightmare. It just wasn't his thing. Maybe a bit out of his comfort zone. He wasn't keen. Dad guessed the fad would pass and I would move onto something else. But I didn't. I pestered him relentlessly to take me to a game. I had no idea that it wasn't really his thing. I just wasn't aware enough to sense it. One day he came home from work with two tickets. I couldn't believe it. I was actually going to a game. I remember looking at them so often that I know every inch of them. We did a dry run over to Liverpool a week or two before the game. Dad wanted to be sure he knew where he was going. To be honest I just thought it was day out. I didn't realise it was a dry run over so dad knew where he was going. I just thought it was a great day trip. Walking aaround an empty Anfield was different in them days. The houses came right up to the ground. No superstore trying to get your cash. In fact the shop was just a tiny corner shop type of thing. It was shut and had grill shutters down, but I still remember a Ray Clemence book on display in the window. I wondered if the shop was open would Dad get it for me? Eventually, the night of the match came around. It was cold. I had put on my hat and scarf a long time before dad got home from the factory. I had a pot noodle for tea. They were pretty new to the market. It tasted nice but I couldn't eat it. I was too excited. Mum insisted I took something to eat and made me a sandwich, but I didn't touch it. We were going to Liverpool!! I don't remember much else about the journey. My next memory is inside the ground. Walking up the steps of the Kemlyn Road stand. I remember going towards our entrance to our seats. All that stood in our way was a friendly looking steward shuffling foot-to-foot to keep warm. He spoke to my dad. "You can come in mate, but he'll have to stay here. He looks like one of them football hooligans." Dad laughed. I smiled although my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking the view was like from beyond that entrance. As we entered my senses were in overload. The grass was so green. Unbelievably bright green. The best grass I had ever seen in my life. The noise. The grass. The sounds. Unbelievable. Flags were waving. Red and white checkered flags. I struggled to take it all in as we took our seats. I can't remember much about the game, but I remember my dad saying "That's Cally. You're privileged to have seen him play, you know!". Maybe he did know something about footy after all. In my study there is some stuff hanging on the wall. My guitar. Some fancy love hearts the missus has hung up. And of course the ticket stubs from my first game. Dad kept them. He framed them and gave them to me a few years back. Bit faded, but they look great! Was it really 40-odd years ago? Dad's got Parkinson's now. Pretty much housebound. The most altruistic bloke I have ever met in my life. Would love to go one more game with him.

New Order Satis I See A Ship In The Harbour.

In what way chief? I've not seen the full video.

I never had a granddad. Grandma and Nana were both single mums. Reading this thread I never knew what I missed. It made me sooo happy for you guys reading some of those posts. Luckily my dad is an amazing bloke (you can read about him here); I couldn't love him more than I do - but still would have liked a couple of Grandads.

No there's not

The spotted Stan smiths deserve a fucking good casual kicking. I’d say 30% of his collection is shit. Also, shoes are to be worn, not displayed like some extra from sex and the city. the ice blue marathons, lovely shoe, I have the green ones and they stand up well to the conditions, but the white ones are fucking shite. not every colour combo of trim trabbs or forest hills looks good. he’s wasted some good fucking money, instead of investing in some timeless classics. Quality not quantity Dom, you fuckhead.

He's a dull, repetitive troll. Try not to engage.

Ox's goals against City cloud our opinion of him. He was up and down last season too, yet has played regular football in the PL for 5/6 seasons. Keita just needs games, not sub appearances in the 90th minute.

Not long after both were sacked from Inter & Liverpool they attended some LMA meal or do or something, along with some other managers & celebs. A poster heard about it from someone who was there and he relayed it onto the rattle. Anyway the story goes that Roy Hodgson was there and Rafa absolutely slaughtered him for laying the blame of his failings on Benitez's door. Next was his absolute bullshit about Rafa banning Kenny from Melwood and them two not seeing eye to eye, more bullshit put to bed by Paul. Rafa was absolutely fucking lit with rage and Hodgson had no answer for any of it.

My maternal grandfather died years before I was born and the only thing I have of his is his name. My paternal grandfather died when I was four but I still have vivid memories of him. He was typical of most Irishmen of his generation; hard working and tough as nails. He got a year long ban from attending GAA matches for hopping the fence to go join in on a fight. When we went to visit every second Sunday, my dad would buy a box of fags and give them to me to pass them on to him. When we got to house, I would give him the pack of ciggies, he would rub my hair and say "the blessings of God be on you." Apparently, my granny hated to see him smoking, so he would be delighted when one of his kids would sneak him a pack. Good thing he sired eleven of them, eight daughters and three sons. They lived a hard but happy life. My dad lived in house with a mud floor until he was five and still vividly remembers when they got their first telly. Sometimes, it's hard to believe, with all the modern comforts I and my peers enjoy, that I am only generation away from a life that hard. I was at my aunt's 70th birthday party last night and they had all eleven lined up for a photo. It was an amazing sight to behold in and of itself.

I get my butler to do my voting for me.

*unfolds paper to reveal Dignitas form*

My Paternal Grandad died sadly a few years before I was born but I've heard a lot told to me about him over the years. A republican who fought in the war of independence. He later became a founding member of Fianna Fail where I grew up and a foreman for the County Council and would cycle everyday to work. Managed to woo and marry my nan (also sadly long departed) at 44 despite being 20 years older than her and spent 20 happy years together before his death. Apparently a lovely kind man who sadly died from a brain tumour when he was 64. My dad to this day still chokes up when talking about him. My maternal Dad was a hardy little Welshman from Pontypool, worked down the mines until he joined the air force and became a navigator in WW2. His plane was shot down flying from France to England and they crash landed killing 3 of his party. He was in hospital for 2 years after. He was also a beautiful kind soul and I fondly remember him with his arms outstretched to meet me with this beaming smile whenever he called to our house. I moved to Ireland when I was very young and sadly didn't get to see much more of him before he died.

Once got into the nip and had a shit on my father in-laws kitchen floor.

Sky Sorces : Harry Kane to claim Llorente 's own-goal

They do it to themselves. They indulge in overhyping and then the relevant player performs to usual levels or hits a rough patch they are then subject to vitriol through no real fault of their own, but rather through the unachievable and unrealistic expectations of the Everton fanbase. It's the same with this Brands fella. I've seen him referred to as "The Maestro," largely based on fuck all (with Everton). They did the same with Steve Walsh. And with their under-23 league winners who were going to step effortlessly into the first team and lead them to years of glory. They. Never. Learn.

I'll be holding brand new impeachment hearings on this, I promise you that.

Yes, physical therapists, doctors, skin care representatives...

Describing yourself as a “casual” in 2018 is cringeworthy, in my opinion.

Having him in charge while the ownership battle was going on just emphasised what a shitshow the club was in at the time. The way we played after FSG first took over and Kenny got the job was an absolute breath of fresh air after this fraudster threatened to relegate us.

This paying for subs thing you constantly bring up is getting a bit tedious @rico1304. You don’t know their financial situations. Even Dave doesn’t seem to mind them contributing to the forum. I’m honestly happy to buy two subscriptions on top of my current one for you to stop this crusade.

He thought he was bigger than the club and we were lucky to have him just because we had ownership issues at the time. I actually think he resented only getting offered such a role when we were in the shit and not because he's the best manager ever who's skills have transfer from Tromso or whatever.

Even better, he's the new Jelavic

Struggling to enjoy watching the matches. Only feel the joy after we get the result. Every game is a pressure cooker.

Must not react to Bascombe's hypocrisy

For an absolutely risible channel ITV hold nostalgic memories from when they used to show Eubank snr’s bouts live, with some of the best TV music ever in ‘The Big Fight’ theme. Their attempt to break back into the market is absolutely baffling. It’s like some marketing pleb has honked cocaine for 5 days straight and started pitching ideas to his boss in a blind panic.

It absolutely doesn’t auto-correct to that as a rule. Auto-correct also has an algorithm that will change a word to a similar word you regularly use, therefore exposing this lad’s level of obsession with us even further.

Good clean wholesome fun that.

Food science researchers at King's college in London have been able to genetically modify an onion so that it can make a human cry for almost 35 years. It's called an Evertonion.

Ultimately it's his hard work to create the fourth goal which has won the 3 points for us today.

I can't get to all the games at the moment and my mates nephew is using my ST when I can't go. So I had to watch on the telly today on tsn a Canadian station. The commentator said something like "there's plenty of tension on Merseyside about Liverpool's title challenge, but it's not from the red half, it's from the blue half". It just shows how mental they are when commentators are taking the piss out of them.

We will score four Edit: there's the first!

Just watched Tina Weymouth on Bass from BBC4 last night. Inevitably boss. Loved learning about Bernard Edwards’ unique playing style, Robbie Shakespeare playing Slave To The Rhythm on one string and Hooky ripping off Ennio Morricone for Blue Monday. Also, Bootsy laughing at James Brown appropriating everyone else’s ideas as his own and the old session dude who wrote the bass line on Walk On The Wildside clearly a little hurt that he never got a credit but far too nice to say so. Loads of great stuff here. Check it out.

Easier to post this. He was an Evertonian and took me to my first match at Goodison 4 - 4 against Newcastle, just didn't seem right to me. Didn't really know my Mums Dad. I know he used to drive trains.

Both died a long time ago. My maternal grandfather survived a political assassination attempt after the WWII in ex-Yu when grandma had to take one for the team. The assassin fired through the bedroom window but had wrong information about the sleeping arrangement so he hit grandma instead. Fortunately she survived, full of shot. They had two elderly spinsters living with them in the cottage and one of them, while they all panicked, on being yelled at "do something, she is bleeding", grabbed some kind of a washbowl and put it under the bed so the floor wouldn't get dirty. They lived like characters in some dark comedy.

Think I’ve posted this before. My Grampher was a local labour councillor for decades and he and my Nan were invited to a garden party at Buckingham Palace. As a proud Cork man and a republican he initially refused to go until my Nan made him. My Nan and Grampher are in line to meet the queen, just as she’s approaching my Nan looks to her side to find my Grampher had done a runner. As she’s meeting the queen she can see my Grampher stealing cuttings from one of the queens rose bushes.