Geordies vs Mancs vs Scousers

Winners go on to face Pearly Kings in a play-off.

Is this a "who is best" or "who is shittest" kind of dealy?

Who is "least worst".

Mancs obv. least worst

I suspect this will go the way of "Food Snobs vs Grammar Pedants" and turn into a 200 post thriller with numpties arguing about whether the Swinging Blue Jeans were better than the Hollies.

Are Mancs more or less annoying due to students from Preston, Oldham, et al pretending to be from Manchester?

I suspect this will go the way of "Food Snobs vs Grammar Pedants" and turn into a 200 post thriller with numpties arguing about whether the Swinging Blue Jeans were better than the Hollies.

-- Noodle Vague, Thursday, 10 January 2008 11:06 (32 seconds ago) Bookmark Link

I'm hoping for some butthurtedness on this thread.

This is pretty tough actually.

don't think Mancs would get many votes in that one, somehow.

-- Just got offed, Thursday, 10 January 2008 11:06 (2 minutes ago) Bookmark Link

oh wait LEAST worst.

mancs by a street?

Are Mancs more or less annoying due to students from Preston, Oldham, et al pretending to be from Manchester?

Or bands from Northwich?

I think I'm calling it Mancs>Scousers>Geordies but I want to read some debate first.

cheryl tweedy wins it.

if it was for worst then scousers by a street, at least in footballing terms.

In my experience, Geordies are fine until you bring football into the equation

Posh Liverpudlians are a treat tho and would walk this easily.

One of my favourite ILX posts ever, even if it was stolen from another board:

In this time of total national grief I take comfort in the Alternative Book Of Scouse Jokes. That's all the usual ones, right, but with alternative endings written by a true Scouser who understands Scouse, ie me, so it's The Truth. It'll have you in fits.
Q: What do you call a Liverpudlian in a suit?
A: Degsy Hatton. A man who stood proud and walked tall for the people of Liverpool only to be betrayed by Southerners who were prejudiced against all Liverpudlians just because of the way they talk and the colour of their skin. But he will return and so will we, hope in our hearts.
Q: Why do all Liverpudlians wear shellsuits?
A: They don't. They don't, right. I mean, some do. I do and all my mates do. But some don't, I suppose. Not always. Because we're all different. And Scousers are more different from anybody than anybody. You'd understand if you were a Scouser. But you're not. We are.

See, that's real humour that. From a true comedian, ie me. That's why people laugh at me. Laugh their bollocks off every time I open my mouth. Because we're all comedians up here, eh? One on every street corner, in every doorway, in every bus shelter. All forged from the same adversity and passion and sense of community that forges a Tom O' Connor. But tonight wasn't about laughter. Tonight was about the pride, the passion, the glory and the pride. Who could believe it, eh? 2005. Liverpool meet Milan in the Champions League final in Istanbul. Two years later, same two teams, same final. And the same city. It's called DESTINY. Spell it out, D-E-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-H-H-H-H-H-H-S-S-S-S-S-S-T-I-N-Y. For one long year the European Cup has been missing from its true home. This is a national tragedy. As the banner I made to take on my long trek to the final read; Pray For Maddie. Pray For Liverpool.

Of course, it costs money, like, to get to a place like Istanbul. But y'know, there's always a way. A bit of jibbing, ducking and diving. But it's also about working together. Like me and my mates. We raised the money by burgling each other's houses. Left our doors open for one another. That's community. That's cooperation. That's passion. That's heart. You don't get that in a city like Everton.

Anyway, it's the big day and here we were in Istanbul. Looked in at the bar and you could see on the telly Liverpool supporters all gathered as far away as Athens, chanting the chant, never walking alone. That's how it is on nights like this. Liverpool IS Europe. But when we got to Istanbul stadium we hardly noticed any fellow reds. So the media stories of UEFA quite literally withdrawing tickets from ALL true Liverpool fans because they hate our passion and our pride were dead true. We get to the stadium, we're the only ones there. No tickets but loads of Scouse charm. "Lerrus in, mate", I says to the moustached feller on the door. "Fookin' lerrus in, like. I've left me ticket back at the hotel but I'll go fetch it and show you it after the game, like, honest." Actually that was just a bit of brilliant Scouse cunning but still I was dead offended when this woolyback looks at me like he half doesn't believe me! Tarring us all with the same brush, like.

"You want to see reserve game here, you need ticket," he says. Come 'ed? Anyway, we tried to force the door open for 25 minutes till finally it dawned on us - those UEFA bastards had switched the venue at the last minute. We burst into tears - we must have been teargassed by the Turks - and go and watched in the bar. Come on, Liverpool! Stevie, Jamie! Stevie! The game started and Stevie Gerrard, I tell you, what a man. What a man. every time he got the ball he was blasting it high and wide, deliberately aiming it into the stands. He knew how much them balls would be worth to a Liverpool fan on e-Bay the next day, to sell on, to put food on their tables, hope in their hearts and Kestrel lager in their bellies. Putting the fans first, that's Stevie. For my money that alone gave us a moral one goal lead, to add to the one Liverpool fans are worth every game which should have had us 2-0 up but then Inter Milan got one and Jamie Carragher tackled and tackled, the way he does all night for fun and then Inter Madrid got another and Stevie Gerrard gave us hope and pride and we got one back. But then the ref got scared and blew the whistle and once again, just like in the Eighties, Liverpool were the victims of a footballing tragedy that will touch the hearts and minds of all peoples, Liverpudlians and Evertonians alike, but from which Liverpool will emerge taller, strengthened as a community, reborn in a valley of tears, Christlike and Godlike.

But now was the time to think of suing some bastard. Get on the phone to one of them daytime telly lawyer firms and sue. Sue UEFA for moving the fixture to Athens, not Istanbul like last time. Sue Inter Milan for deliberately sabotaging our offside trap with their cynical tactics. You don't do that to a man like Jamie Carragher. Sue Rafa Benitez for not putting on Robbie Fowler, at least for the last 89 minutes. Sue that Clive Tyldesley for deliberately building up our hopes - some of us put our life savings on at Paddypower at half time on account of the way he was going on. It's not right. Sue The Beatles for abandoning Liverpool in its hour of need. Sue Man Utd for not tiring Milan out enough in the semi final. Sue the Government for the whole Degsy Hatton scandal. Sue Starbucks for taking a significant part of their name from Liverpool's finest golfer and comedian, Jimmy T himself, the man known to one and all quite simply as "The Joke".

But this is no joke. Come the first weekend of the new season, there should be a minute's silence at every football ground in the United Kingdom for Liverpool's lost trophy. Who knows where it is now? In swarthy, foreign hands, I dunno, Spain, Italy, wherever Inter Madrid or Milan is, asking over and over when it can come home to Anfield and get to see it's true Da' again, Stevie Gerrard. It's heartbreaking. But no one loses like Liverpool. We will return to Istanbul, for another That Night. We will be back. And this time, we'll lose by more.

Who did that then?

that is fantastic

some lippy manc i'd say

i could claim scouser allegiance, but: geordies.

Boyle posted it, it's apparently taken from the OneTouchFootball forums.

scousers

whatever the fuck that is

Scousers, purely because the funniest ILx thread ever isn't called Manchester Tickets Fiasco or Newcastle Tickets Fiasco.

^^^this is a very good point

The match report was done by this bloke. he doesn't do the scouse ones on his site because they tend to be, erm, misunderstood. On OTF we have pleaded him to do one about Newcastle.

After Liverpool beat Barcelona last year:

The late, great Bill Shankly once said to a reporter, “There are only two teams in the world. One is Liverpool.” And what was the other one, the reporter asked? “It's far more important than that,” replied “Shanks”. No one understood what he meant. To this day, no one has understood. That's why they hounded him to his death. But get this. You weren't meant to. You are not Liverpool. We are. You're not. You are Bleasedale-less, Tarbuck-less. We are not.

There are two cathedrals in Liverpool. One is Anfield. The other is the Liverpool trophy room. It was at the first that this game took place. Who we were we playing? Not certain. Real Barcelona, Inter Madrid, some Spanish, Portuguese outfit, I'd have to check the programme. No true Red truly cares. They were non-Liverpudlian.

On the night we lost. But on the day we won. That's Liverpool. That's what we do. What we are. There is a reason why blood runs blood red and not yellow, like the yellowbacks we faced tonight. That reason is Liverpool FC. We win games for fun because we walk like Gods, walk tall with pride, passion, whether it's to the Job Centre, the podium in Istanbul, the dock at the Crown Court or to sign the Book of Condolences for those birds Michael Angelis shot to death in the backyard coop in The Boys From The Blackstuff (we will never forget. Hope in our hearts). There's a reason hearts are red and not red with white collars like the Manchester scum. That reason is Liverpool FC. This is Anfield.

Tonight's was a roll call of passion, and of pride. Let us list the line up in full. Jamie Carragher. Stevie Gerrard. What a team. What resilience. What character. But then, given that this was the city that gave the world Carla Lane, no wonder we're capable of creating enduring characters that live in the mind and the heart and the soul as long as men walk tall and women stand proud in doorways. Jamie Carragher. Of course, he would be called Jamie. This is Liverpool. Stevie Gerrard. He runs his red heart out, not just for the team. He runs it out for every Liverpudlian who ever suffered a vicious injustice, be it Marji Clarke not winning an Oscar for Letter To Brezhnev or the man who stabs a feller to death in the chest in full view of twelve witnesses but gets sent down purely because he happens to have been born in Liverpool.

So we won. Of course we do. Liverpool always win. Everyone knows that. Everyone assumes that. In fact, to me in my heart of hearts it's utterly offensive and racist the way people assume we win all the time (Liverpudlians are a race apart). In fact, the next time some woolyback commentator goes on about That Night In Instanbul or our Big European Nights I'm thinking of suing one of those big telly corporations for personal racist offence, because to me, right, it's a stereotype and you can get money suing for that. Yeah, yeah, Scousers, we've all got big black moustaches and perms, we all wear shellsuits and leave your parked cars on bricks, yeah, we always win in Europe. Do not patronise us. Only Liverpudlians are allowed to go on about how We Always Win Because We're Liverpool. That's our right. It's not yours, and never forget that.

In fact, true Reds like me look at it different. Me, I actually prefer it when we lose. I wish we'd lost tonight. I was glad when we went 3-0 down against Inter Madrid in Istanbul. Because it's only in adversity that we show our true character, that we come together as a city, the people of Liverpool, standing tall, walking proud. I'll tell you what, I hope we get relegated, me. Relegated right down to the third division. Because only then will you see us in our true colours, defiant, united in our sense of loss, walking tall despite our desperate circumstances, objects of universal pity. That's why, like any true Red, I wear a blue shirt and stand in the Everton end for Merseyside derbies. That's why I hope, in my heart of hearts, that Arsenal give us a red-raw spanking when they come up to Anfield for our next home game, like the last two they gave us. God, I enjoyed those. Adversity, adversity, shows us in our true colours, for what we are. And what you aren't

After the 8-0 against Besiktas

Two weeks ago, tragedy struck and yet again, the victims were Liverpudlians, the people of Liverpool, who follow their team to the end of the earth, whose only crime, apart from the stuff they'd done time for and that, was to walk tall with fire in their hearts, hope in their bellies, pride in the Shirt and passion in their moustaches. 2-1. We did not deserve that. No Liverpool team deserves that. A man like Stan Boardman does not deserve that. The Shirt does not deserve that. No wonder since then, these past two weeks, that even people who don't have the privilege to be Liverpudlians shared and felt our pain and have worn the red flower to mark this tragedy, one which put everything else in perspective. I seen them everywhere, me. And rightly so. A Champions League without Liverpool would be quite literally a farce, like a Rock'n'Roll Hall Of Fame without The Beatles in it or a Top Five Funniest Men Who Ever Lived list without Tom O' Connor in it.

Tragedy is where the people of Liverpool are at their finest, however. No one does a good barney, a good stand up routine or a good tragedy like Liverpudlians. We rise again. And that's what happened tonight. It all comes down to the passion, the pride, the pride, the passion and The Shirt. You could have laid out eleven of them Shirts out onto the pitch without players in them and they would have given their all, done the city of Liverpool proud, even though they would have been trampled over by the opposition for 90 minutes, the way the citizens of Liverpool were trampled over back in the 18th century when they were traded as slaves – or traded slaves, whichever it was, eh, that's for the nancy woolyback bookworms to sort out, what matters is the heart and the pride at the end of the day. And the Shirt.

The point is, tonight, we got the selection right. Jamie Carragher, without whose last gasp passion and red heart the game would surely have finished a tragic 8-8. Stevie Gerrard. What a team. And what a Captain's performance. 'Ello! Stevie Gerrard gets on the end of a passing combination, shoots, ball takes a deflection off of a Turk, doesn't matter, it's in the back of the net. 'Ello! Stevie Gerrard blasts a free kick, Turkish goalie gets a hand to it, it goes in anyway off Benayou – Benayi – anyway, Turkish feller, back of the net. Own goal. Another magical Margi Clarke moment.

A proud city that just 24 hours ago was staring Death in the face – for Death is what it would have meant to the City of Liverpool to spend the rest of the season in the UEFA Cup playing friggin' FC Cuckooclock every Thursday evening while men who once walked tall now find they can't even sue Sky and get money back on their dishes cos they haven't got Liverpool Champions League games on. Sports Personality of the Year? No contest, now – Stevie G. Runner up; Jamie Carragher. Third place; Jimmy Tarbuck, golfer. That has to be the result. Anything less than that would be a tragic insult to Liverpool, a tragic insult to the Shirt and a long, hard piss all over Cilla Black's face.

A Christmas Message

It's at this time, as I stand and watch the people of Liverpool literally walking tall back and forth across the Mersey, that I think to myself just how many people forget the true meaning of Christmas, which is, of course, Liverpool Football Club. There's a reason why Santa Claus is a Liverpudlian, and it's got frig all to do with him clambering in and out of people's houses with a sack over his shoulder. It's 'cos he's a red. Heh, didn't see that coming, did you? That's comedy that, pure Tom O' Connor solid gold. Red, you see, like the shirts of Liverpool Football Club, which only a select few are fit to wear – Gerrard, Carragher, Stevie G. Liverpool Football Club. Remember that, say it with passion and solemnity and pride and passion, over and over again, on Radio Five Live phone-ins, just in case people don't get how special we are. We are Liverpool Football Club. That's our full name. Why? Because this is a Football Club. And we're from Liverpool. And we are the only Football Club called Liverpool. That's why we call ourselves Liverpool Football Club. We wear the Shirt. Except I watched in disgust and anger and rage and sorrow on the telly tonight as a tragedy unfolded before the nation's eyes and the police stood by and did nothing about it. Liverpool Football Club were knocked out of the Carling Cup. Why? Because there were Liverpool Football Club players who weren't fit to wear the Shirt. In fact, there were one or two who weren't fit to wear the shorts. They should have been made to run around the pitch in their kecks, like, as punishment for being so devoid of heart in their bellies and pride in their hunger, their hunger to play for Liverpool Football Club.
Anyway, I'd like to offer a few prayers to St. Nicholas, patron Saint of Liverpool Football Club. I pray that we can rebuild this club to the former glories of the Phil Thompson years, so's we can dream of competing again in the Champions League, perhaps even reach the final. It's been too long, we have wept too many tears, shot too many pigeons, thrown too much lead off roofs at passers-by, headbutted too many policemen. I'd also like to pray for justice for that teacher lady the Sudanese government sent back to Liverpool purely for the so-called crime of naming her teddy bear after a Liverpool Football Club player, Mohamed Sissoko. Must we be persecuted for our beliefs in every corner of the globe? I pray that she be allowed to return home, away from the dreadful, tragedy-stricken region of Liverpool, back to Sudan.

funniest football writing ever

(like, i seriously cannot stop laughing)

The Shirt does not deserve that.

Jamie Carragher, without whose last gasp passion and red heart the game would surely have finished a tragic 8-8. Stevie Gerrard. What a team.

This is cracking me up

Anything less than that would be a tragic insult to Liverpool, a tragic insult to the Shirt and a long, hard piss all over Cilla Black's face.

Stevie Gerrard. He runs his red heart out, not just for the team. He runs it out for every Liverpudlian who ever suffered a vicious injustice, be it Marji Clarke not winning an Oscar for Letter To Brezhnev or the man who stabs a feller to death in the chest in full view of twelve witnesses but gets sent down purely because he happens to have been born in Liverpool.

might have known this would descend into football.

mancs, obviously.

This poll is backwards. It would be better to see who was least popular out of Scousers and Geordies.

Everything descending into football is the latest fad, man

Don't understand all this manc love

They're like Cockneys, only Northern. What's not to love?

at least cockneys are too fucking deadened by living in London to talk about how great London is all the time

hahahaha

I think I like Mancs best because a; my girlfriend's one, and b; they're the least self-pitying of the three. Probably because Man Utd have actually won the Premier League.

my response may be affected by the cavernous hole where my sense of civic pride would be if I did not come from the Midlands

I never thought self-pity was a trait of geordie-ism? Maybe because I've been to sunderland in the past, and they have it DOWN.

Hey, the Electric Cinema is nice.

xp

I voted "geordies", anyway. Being one, I have to.

my response may be affected by the cavernous hole where my sense of civic pride would be if I did not come from the Midlands

that lack of civic pride is a sense of some pride to me, none o'yer fuckin reflected glory for me

The whole managerial merry-go-round at Newcastle United makes me think poorly of Geordies, I think. And Scousers are just self-pitying fucks.

Dear Boyler - please keep us updated after next big Liverpool CL game.

I don't give a fuck about football, so the NUFC managerial thing means 0 to me.

I mean, I heard someone getting all hot and bothered about it in wh smith yesterday, I couldn't be arsed to eavesdrop though.

Sunderland look as if they're GOING down but that's not quite the same thing.

I had a dream last night in which Sunderland beat Wigan 9-1

That mong guy speaks for all of us Black Country boys who show pride in our roots by living 150 miles away from the West Midlands.

I don't have a problem with either three of these, the only way i can vote is via the football or music world mind. I guess Geordies are the least aggravating in that case.

It's the 'anyone but Scousers' vote.

Mancs think they should run the world, Scousers think whoever runs the world hates them and Newcastle think they do.
Which is another way of saying the three cultures are Mancs (arrogance), Scousers (victimhood) and Geordies (delusion)

londoners don't really mind who runs the world as long as they get a good cut

beyond M25 = does not compute

Cockeys = actually run the world, though.

'World' = Britain obv.

Brummies = tidy up afterwards?

beautiful

Automatic thread bump. This poll is closing tomorrow.

Automatic thread bump. This poll's results are now in.

Well.

Poll was too confusing - there's absolutely no way Scousers could win a "least worst" poll

that or lurking CAPITAL OF CULTURE 2008 street teamers have rigged it

Second is good.

(xp) Either that or that Scouser who I got into a conversation with in a bar in Camden was lying when he said, "See, we're different in Liverpool and everybody hates us for it... all the rest of youse hate us..." (carry on ad nauseum for rest of evening)

Poll was too confusing - there's absolutely no way Scousers could win a "least worst" poll

Yep, something's gone very wrong here

Scousers must have hijacked the poll, stole its wallet and pissed on the corpse.

I suppose the lengthy discussion of how they're all cunts was really the important part of the thread

Scousers must have hijacked the poll, stole its wallet and pissed on the corpse.

-- King Boy Pato, Thursday, 17 January 2008 12:50 (6 minutes ago) Bookmark Link

^lolled at this.

Top 5 reasons to be thankful to Rupert Murdoch:

1. Pissed off a lot of Scousers
2. Family Guy
3. Bankrolled Rawkus records, therefore giving us "The Light" by Pharoahe Monch
4+5. ???

6. PROFIT

7. Dude will be paying very small part of my wages from the end of this month

Rongest poll ever. I'd actually expected the opposite outcome.

Hmm.

When I first heard that these American fellers, Penn and Gillette had bought Liverpool off of our David Moores, I had two thoughts – first, I thought, at last, someone's gonna bring the magic back to Liverpool Football Club. Not just the magic but the passion, the glory, the money, the heart and the money, and the passion, the money and the money. Second, it was dead sound to see a loveable local Liverpool la' like our David, one of our own, make a bob or two. Maybe he can put his feet up now, open a chippy or whatever, go on, la' you deserve it after all you've done for Liverpool Football Club. David Moores – there was a man fit to wear the suit. So I was all for it, me. Here were the owners who could lead us, walking tall, as a team, as a people, into the River Mersey, our spiritual home.

Turns out these Penn Gillette fellers were friggin' Yanks all along! Americans! They're Red haters the Americans! Russians, and that – and look what they did to the Red Indians! Well, now they're doing the same to us. Only what Penn and Gillette are doing to us, the Scouse race, is a lot lot worse than what the Americans did to the Red Indians. We've been, literally, raped and displaced. We may not even have a place in the Champions League next season, our spiritual home, our connection to the true earth. And let me tell you, a Scouser without his Champions Leagues place is like a Red Indian without a wigwam. At least them Red Indians had wigwams.

This club, the club that goes by the name of Liverpool Football Club where men fit to wear the shirt walk tall in their hearts, has fallen into the wrong hands. We've gorrer get things right on the pitch, get the formation right, whether it's Carragher playing a holding midfield role alongside Gerrard (0-2-0) Gerrard dropping back to the back four to play alongside Carragher (2-0-0), or Carragher playing in behind Gerrard upfront (0-1-1) or Carragher and Gerrard twinning up as two out and out attackers (0-0-2), we've gorrer get it right. We've had some terrific results recently – holding the likes of Villa, Wigan and Luton to hard fought draws, results of high drama and passion, the quality of which reminds you of Brookside at its finest. But we Scousers, we deserve better, us.

Big part of the problem is the feller we've got in charge now. He's not from here. Never has been. His ways are not our ways. He thinks different, talks different. I mean, fancy putting Peter Kay in charge of Liverpool Football Club. He's from Bolton. That's not Liverpool, by a long chalk. I wouldn't drink the water in Bolton, me. God knows how they treat their donkeys.

See, in the old days, we did it different. When Bill Shankly resigned, his assistant Bob Paisley took over. When Bob Paisley retired, he was took over by Joe Fagin, Bill Shankly's assistant's assistant. Then after that, we got in Roy Evans, who was Bill Shankly's assistant's assistant's assistant. It was the chain. That all stopped that, and that's when we stopped winning European Clubs and playing friggin' FC Shtkrknk or friggin' Young Hot Racing Boys of Berne FC in the friggin' UEFA Cup every season. If we'd kept up that system, kept it all in house, among our own, not strangers, but handed it down and down, then by now our manager would be Mrs Gladys Allsop, whose been working man and girl in the staff canteen for 40 years now. She should be manager. The chain. She'd see that Stevie G went out onto that pitch with a buttie in his belly, as well as hope, pride and heart, that's for sure.

As for who's gonna own the club, well, we've gorrer kick out the Yanks. I suggest we get in a consortium of Stan Boardman, Tom O' Connor and Jimmy Tarbuck. They'll have made enough between them, quality comedians like that don't go short of a bob or two. They could probably put down, say, £30,000 between them, as good faith, like, and the Government should pay the rest like they did for the friggin' Geordies at Northern Rock. Why not? What have the Geordies ever done for this country apart from hang that monkey? Nothing. We have brought this country its finest comedians, its finest pop groups and its finest tragedies, we deserve better. The city that gave the world Margi Clarke and the phrase “my arse” deserves better.

So them's the choices. Boardman, O' Connor and Tarbuck. Or then, of course, there is His Esteemed Holiness, Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid al-Maktoum, ruler of the worthy and exalted dynasty Dubai, noble venerator of the prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), to whom we faithful approach on bended knee in humble supplication to deliver us from the Great Satan. He'll do, so long as he doesn't turn out to be some sort of bloody Arab. Liverpool!

Penn Gilette? http://www.thetoque.com/011204/pics/penntell.jpg