Horror in Wigan as Manchester United Felled by Plague
It was never supposed to be this way. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen in football. An exciting day—that’s what we thought we would see. A contest. A game! Now the sole remaining question—the final, terrifying, all-important question—is how can we go on? How can we placate the wrath of a God who may no longer be willing to forgive us? How can we purify ourselves? How can we ever be safe?
Look at the last picture, though—Carrick looks secretly pleased that the plague is happening.
(By the way, I’ve been traveling for the last two days and haven’t had internet access. Every time I work up the courage to mug someone for their Blackberry, a police officer wanders by, quietly whistling an Irish air, swinging his billy club by the strap. Normal blog service resumes tomorrow.)
[Very glad to hear it. Don't get yourself arrested so close to the finish liiiiiiiine.]
How do I stop laughing @ Van Der Sar in the 2nd and 3rd photo?
*newbie alert*
Guys!
I’m comin’, guys!
Hey! Don’t celebrate without me!
I’m almost there!
Here I am, guys!
Somebody nooootice meeeeee!
*guffaws*
No stop, I can’t take it anymore.
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