Rahul
Full Member
fecking hell, anderson isnt even on the bench.
link?
fecking hell, anderson isnt even on the bench.
I wont be surprised if he isn't even on the bench. He looked pissed off when the camera's showed him.
Anderson just got off the bus. He didn't look very happy at all.
fecking hell, anderson isnt even on the bench.
They have to be handed to officials 1 hour before the match, it'll be a few minutes after that when they'll pop up on the news, so 25 minutesWhen do we get the line up?
I wont be surprised if he isn't even on the bench. He looked pissed off when the camera's showed him.
Not funnyCalm down folks, think he was just making a joke, here's the context, I think.
Not funny
fecking hell, anderson isnt even on the bench.
Where Park
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'