We are playing pass and move football. We dominate possession, as the merest glance at our match statistics will confirm. We routinely have 10-20 passes and more without the opposition getting anywhere near us, often ending in an attempt on goal (again stats will confirm). We keep the ball; we don't turn the beautiful game into a succession of 50/50 challenges
That is proper football. It is Barcelona not Wimbledon. It is light years from anything your heroes DD and OBN would produce, or even understand. Wilder's Tuftyball would confuse and bewilder the old Hoofers. It is the complete antithesis of alehouse football. A phrase coined by the late, great Bill Shankly, of whom you may have heard? He knew what he was talking about.
You don't understand it, either. This we know, because you have asked me more than once to explain to you the concepts of "proper footballer" and the "right way" even though both phrases are in common usage by top players and managers, including guess who? That's right, Tufty himself. They mean playing football, Boo. Proper football. Not the ragamuffin, raggy-arsed tearing around aimlesssly, tirelessly chasing shadows, muckanettles, nowt-fancy, anti-football that you admire so much. As I have told you before, if you need to ask the question, you won't understand the answer, and you don't, that's perfectly clear.
So, your attempt to claim Tuftyball as your own is exposed for the disingenuous nonsense it so obviously is. Your attempt to turn Bassett base metal into Tufty Gold is risible. Your touchstone is damaged beyond repair. It's as redundant as a fax machine.
You Hoofers are in glorious retreat as football rises again at The Lane after far, far too long. It's Dunkirk for the Dinosaurs. It's glorious for the beautiful game.
Thank Pele. Thank Tufty.
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