As for McGeady, he could do worse than become a defender;The new Kevin Kilbane. Or Gary Kelly...
Then again Stephen Ward's probably an example of someone who got worse...
http://www.janeausten.co.uk/wp-conte...scotch_egg.jpg
No, seriously. The Scots have made many great contributions to dubious cuisine but Scotch eggs are not one of them. They consistently continue to underwhelm.
I remember seeing Stokes when he was about 13 or 14 and being extremely excited at his ability. He could have been a fabulous player, but he appears to be the ultimate example of unfulfilled talent through lack of application. I don't have much sympathy for him.
Graham Barrett on the other hand was somebody to be sympathetic about. He had superb ability and would have had a very good career at the very highest level only for injury.
disgusting. Looks like a prop from Jurrasic Park.
No Somos muchos pero estamos locos.
When you start with an American egg it will never work. Eugh.
DID YOU NOTICE A SIGN OUTSIDE MY HOUSE...?
That looks hideous. I love supermarket Scotch eggs but wouldn't touch that. Once heard an American man demand a haggis in a restaurant in Dublin. He started getting angry when the Polish waiter didn't know what that was.
There's this misconception in North America that Irish people eat haggis to the extent that scots, like James McCarthy, do. I usually whip out the black pudding in response and open a can of whoop-ass (American national dish I think)...
I like high energy football. A little bit rock and roll. Many finishes instead of waiting for the perfect one.
I like high energy football. A little bit rock and roll. Many finishes instead of waiting for the perfect one.
I've never had black pudding. Is it a entree, side or dessert? Mel Gibson likes Haggis.
No Somos muchos pero estamos locos.
No sign of McGeady in Spartak's squad for their 0-0 draw with Lokomotiv today. Hopefully he will still be allowed to travel but must be a serious doubt for the two qualifying games now.
"There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet" - Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
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