Guts&Glory
12/02/2010, 3:13 PM
Taken from their weekly howl newsletter that I signed up to some time ago, every week they comment on a badge last week it was FC Baku, http://www.wsc.co.uk/content/view/4530/33/ ,this week our beloved Bit O'Red :
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Badge of the week
An interesting one, this one. Dan Brown could probably make a bestselling book out of the symbolism here. Of course, Dan Brown could probably make a bestselling book out of a few badly chosen words and a packet of cress. This crest's designers have gone for enigma verging on absurdism.
Central to the image is a football brandishing a flashlight in a cave of red sandstone. Little does the football know that, just out of its torch's range, lurks a trustafarian buried up to his or her head in sand, while the tide gradually, remorselessly seeps ever closer.
On top of the cliffs, powerless to help in view of the treacherous speed of the tides hereabouts, a fox or wolf pads about, awaiting the outcome of the drama unfolding below. Where does one find meaning here? Are we the fox, living our everyday lives while beneath us, in our subconscious, lurk terrors that, once identified, would drive us insane? Are we the football, confident in the belief that our view of the world is all-encompassing but, in reality, allowed merely the view afforded by the width of the beam from a Millets scout torch? Or are we the trustafarian, a pain in the arse? One has to congratulate Sligo for going with the difficult art-house option when so many clubs would settle for the big "S" and a non-illuminated football. Cameron Carter
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Badge of the week
An interesting one, this one. Dan Brown could probably make a bestselling book out of the symbolism here. Of course, Dan Brown could probably make a bestselling book out of a few badly chosen words and a packet of cress. This crest's designers have gone for enigma verging on absurdism.
Central to the image is a football brandishing a flashlight in a cave of red sandstone. Little does the football know that, just out of its torch's range, lurks a trustafarian buried up to his or her head in sand, while the tide gradually, remorselessly seeps ever closer.
On top of the cliffs, powerless to help in view of the treacherous speed of the tides hereabouts, a fox or wolf pads about, awaiting the outcome of the drama unfolding below. Where does one find meaning here? Are we the fox, living our everyday lives while beneath us, in our subconscious, lurk terrors that, once identified, would drive us insane? Are we the football, confident in the belief that our view of the world is all-encompassing but, in reality, allowed merely the view afforded by the width of the beam from a Millets scout torch? Or are we the trustafarian, a pain in the arse? One has to congratulate Sligo for going with the difficult art-house option when so many clubs would settle for the big "S" and a non-illuminated football. Cameron Carter