Trying to cheer up miserable gets doesn’t work

3 10 2011

A few weeks ago I began to worry about some of the Prestatyn fans on the message board that I belong to, ooops I mean “used to belong” to after yesterday. (I don’t want to go into this in any more detail than I have to, I’ll just say that yesterday will become known as the Day of Reckoning in the autobiography of the Llandudno Jet Set.). ……Anyway back to the story ……..  I began to worry about the Prestatyn fans on the board because they are subject to the most bestial abuse.

Try to imagine the position they find themselves in, if you can.

Try to imagine how you’d deal with fan after fan implying that your club’s manager “Neil “Gibbo” Gibson” is a snidey little twat.

Imagine how horrible it would be to read the words of fan after fan, from club after club, when they write about the “snivelling little fucker” that wears the  manager’s jacket for your club.

Imagine how you’d feel if you had to read that your club scars the league with the most horrible anti-football day after day after day.

Imagine if you had people question your sanity by calling you paranoid all the time.

Imagine it all. It would be tough.

Then I began to worry about the sanity of the Prestatyn fans. I worried that if Prestatyn suffered a heavy defeat in their next league match there would be a collective mental collapse, especially after enduring the bestial insults. I decided that I would travel  into the future to see what their next result would be. I wanted to help by forewarning them if it was bad news. Here’s what I found out;

5 mins – Town go 3-0 down, Gibbo threatens to sack himself for giving himself a lack of respect.

15 mins – Town go 4-1 down, Gibbo contemplates joining the priesthood.

25 mins – Town go 6-1 down. Gibbo stares at the deep dark abyss opening up in front of him and as asks “Why Me?”

35 mins – Town go 8-2 down, Gibbo stares at pitch, sees nature’s complexity & decides to write new series for David Attenborough

44 mins – Town go 10-2 down just before HT, Gibbo thinks the Lord moves in mysterious ways, his horoscope didn’t say this when he read Murdoch’s tabloid this morning.

60 mins – Town go 12-3 down, Gibbo is heard muttering about the advertising hoardings’ lack of respect.

65 mins – Town go 15-5 down. Gibbo is heard speaking in tongues while he paces the line.

75 mins – Town go 16-5 down. Watch Gibbo’s head spin whilst he projectile vomits a green liquid.

82 mins – Town go 17-5 down. A German priest shows up to perform Gibbo’s exorcism.

83 mins – Town are still down 17-5. The power of Christ compels Gibbo, the power of Christ compels Gibbo!!!

84 mins – Town go down 18-6. The evil spirit leave Gibbo but finds its way into Willo’s body, Willo jumps into clubhouse.

88 mins – Town go down 19-6. Gibbo mutters about “Evil’s” lack of respect for his club’s achievements.

89 mins – Town go down 20-6 in the last minute. Gibbo mutters about the illuminati’s grip on the Welsh Premier League

90 mins – Town lose 22-6. Gibbo puts on a foil hat & sits in centre circle. He starts rocking & muttering about “them”

At times I couldn’t believe my eyes, unbelieveable tekkers from the boy Monsignor Berthold made him my man of the match.

I did this to help them and what thanks did I receive? Nothing except the sound of silence. Then I thought that a bit of humour was just the ticket so I tried a few jokes;

Why did Gibbo cross the road?
Because the chicken was disrespecting him, his club and his achievements.

An Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman went into a pub. Gibbo left as they were disrespecting him, his club and his achievements.

How many Gibbos does it take to change a lightbulb?
One, but the lightbulb must show respect for him, his club and his achievements.

What’s the difference between Gibbo and the Pope?
Gibbo would never disrespect Gibbo, his club or his achievements.

If Gibbo fell in a deserted forest would anyone hear him muttering under his breath about “them”?

A Bangor Talbot fan went to the Doctor. “Doctor, Doctor I feel like a pair of curtains”
– “Well pull yourself together and stop disrespecting Gibbo, his club and his achievements”

Knock, knock
Who’s there?
Gibbo
Gibbo who?
Neil Gibson, now stop disrespecting me, my club and my achievements.

Again this was met with silence. I was stuck, what should I do? The answer came on the road to Rhuallt when I was afflicted by a blinding light. A voice boomed from above;

“JUDGE NOT, LEST YE SHALL BE JUDGED. RESPECT THY FELLOWS!!!!”

I realised that God reads the Welsh-Premier forum and he obviously thought I was being disrespectful to Gibbo, his club and his achievements. 

At first I was afraid, I was petrified, I thought I could never live with the right to chide. Then I remembered that I was meant to be helping the Prestatyn fans. Then the realisation hit me. I must respect all men!!! I must help all men!!!!!

I was so overcome by the joyful feelings coursing through my body that I wrote a ballad in celebration of the achievements of my fellow man. It has a simple title;

“Gibbo – A Ballad”

I’ll tell a tale,
                     a thrilling tale of a character that’s beyond compare,
                                heart of oak, limb of teak and steely stare.
Three decades have passed since the glorious day,
             when our hero’s birth meant sun not grey.

The road he took was arduous, winding and well trod,
          turning boy to playing man, mortal into god.
Dragon’s red graced with style and elan,
             following Earnie, Danny and Leyton the plan.

Dark clouds when the rumour of release did tease,
                     they were true, the dream did cease.
Professional men cast him out, no thought to spare,
                      the cold shoulders of cold-hearted men,
                                  how do mortals bare?

But setbacks do not a hero break,
                   of opportunities do they make.
Our hero left for pastures new,
           his steely resolve became his mental glue.

A nomad’s ride was his new life,
with moments resting on the knife.
If only one could hear the adventure tales,
of up North, the Midlands and north Wales.

Then our hero found a home,
            the only absence a desire to roam.
The fickle mistress success arrived,
                   his new abode developed as he strived.

With heart of oak, limb of teak and steely stare,
                 the battles are won without care.
Leading his charges resplendent in red,
              The last remaining battle,
                                the voices in his head.

I tried, oh lord how I’ve tried but I received nothing in return except for silence.

As for the Prestayn fans, I soon realised that they are beyond hope. Despite the evidence to the contrary they go on deluding themselves;

“Gibbo never causes any problems, this whole thread was down to Bangor Talbot fans who have the hump with Gibbo, probably down to the fact that we get results against both teams.”

No son, I’ll think you found that people dislike Neil “Gibbo” Gibson because he likes to play football like a tosser with an attitude problem.

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