Flatter than an unusually flat thing; Flatty Flatterton laying flat at Flatitty Flats. That is how flat United came out in a game in which they should've destroyed the fucking Fire at Toyota Park tonight.
I'm doing quick hits here, because it's late, and when I wake up, my vacation will be over, which is a very sad bunny, but an annual sad bunny, so I ought not whimper. I'll leave the detailed analysis--which will undoubtedly involve reversion to the mean and the trademarking thereof--to Fullback, who's smarter than I am anyway (though not funnier).
Back in a state of grace: Josh Wolff, who scored the equalizer, and likely only until the next time he steps onto the field, which after tonight will be...next game at KC. Where I suspect he was going to start anyway.
Never really entered a state of grace: Stephen King, whose name was mentioned by the despicable ESPN broadcast team exactly twice, one of them when he was subbed out.
You suck, just die: John Harkes. In the words of a close friend: "What a knob." I'd rather listen to Eric Fucking Wynalda, who's really annoying, but cattier, funnier, and fucked Harkes' wife. Or shit, I don't know, maybe it was the other way around. If you gave me a gun, one bullet, John Harkes, and Tommy Soehn, I'd spare Soehn. When I call Bruce Arena a traitor? It's because that word's too fucking kind for John Fucking Harkes.
Seriously?: Bill Hamid's hamstring. What the fucking fuck?
No, seriously?: Steve Cronin's existence. Oxygen thief.
You were dirtier when you were Julius James' grasshopper: Dejan Jakovic, who really needs to relearn that if you're going to punk a speedy little bitch like Patrick Nyarko, you'd best punk his speedy little bitch ass to the ground.
Shut up, you pouty useless bitch: Charlie Davies.Grow the fuck up, you adolescent punk. Pissed off you got benched? Try actually playing football, you lazy sack of shite.
That's all I got. In fact, all I had was the first two sentences, my fingers just kept moving. Peace out.
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