shorehamview
Pink Sambuca drinking World Champion.
Never mind the new signings, or the players that go. Forget the management, or the board. Sod the World Cup bid, and the success or failure of England this summer.
What really matters is the friendships forged in the heat of matches and the camaraderie of the beers before and after. The joy of taking your child to watch the Blades, and hearing them sing the songs, and knowing that they too will be addicted to the love that you are. The knowledge that no matter how good, how bad, or how indifferent the team that wears the red and white is, that we are Blades. We are above the financial skullduggery and flim-flammery of the so-called elite. We are worlds away from following a third tier band of rag-tag journeymen in their make-believe world that their cackhole is a top-class stadium. We are above the tantrums of the alleged fans of Yorkshire's Number One Club, fans who are so great that they rip out the seats at every ground they witness defeat, and even those at which they taste victory.
We hold our heads high because we know that because of and despite the men that wear our colours, we know that they only borrow them. From the bench warmer to the chairman, they are mere custodians of the colours that we own. We are United, for now and for our lifetimes. We are not bound to any financial contracts, for ours is a contract of blood, of faith, and of forever.
So whatever the outlook may be, whatever the team plays like, whoever pulls on the hallowed red and white, know unto yourselves that they are not Sheffield United.
Not really. They never were, and never will be. We are, you and I.
We are Blades, and we face this season as we have faced all the others.
Knowing we are Blades.
And knowing that deep down, when everything else is stripped away, for better or worse, that is who we are.
We are Blades.
We stand proud.
Bring it on.
What really matters is the friendships forged in the heat of matches and the camaraderie of the beers before and after. The joy of taking your child to watch the Blades, and hearing them sing the songs, and knowing that they too will be addicted to the love that you are. The knowledge that no matter how good, how bad, or how indifferent the team that wears the red and white is, that we are Blades. We are above the financial skullduggery and flim-flammery of the so-called elite. We are worlds away from following a third tier band of rag-tag journeymen in their make-believe world that their cackhole is a top-class stadium. We are above the tantrums of the alleged fans of Yorkshire's Number One Club, fans who are so great that they rip out the seats at every ground they witness defeat, and even those at which they taste victory.
We hold our heads high because we know that because of and despite the men that wear our colours, we know that they only borrow them. From the bench warmer to the chairman, they are mere custodians of the colours that we own. We are United, for now and for our lifetimes. We are not bound to any financial contracts, for ours is a contract of blood, of faith, and of forever.
So whatever the outlook may be, whatever the team plays like, whoever pulls on the hallowed red and white, know unto yourselves that they are not Sheffield United.
Not really. They never were, and never will be. We are, you and I.
We are Blades, and we face this season as we have faced all the others.
Knowing we are Blades.
And knowing that deep down, when everything else is stripped away, for better or worse, that is who we are.
We are Blades.
We stand proud.
Bring it on.
