Evening.Just about to watch my beloved Celtic take on the might of Cardiff City in some nondescript pre-season cup and I've just clocked a look at Dougie Donnelly.
Now if you're English you probably won't know much about this physical embodiment of Serotonin, but all my Scottish compatriots will be well versed in his Troll like charms and gentlemanly taste in tweed tailoring.
I grew up listening to this man talk shite on Scotsport in a time when pundits were unashamedly biased alcoholics, and not a bunch of former footballers. Pundits, like a footballing version of Beadles dwarf hand, they hide their athletic inadequacy behind statistics and groin height wood-chip tables. Good old Dougie wasn't even a pundit as such, he just used to fill in space between the real pundits, filler, that's all he was good for.
Anyways, he gives me the creeps, he's got hair like dry Supernoodles and looks like he's gonna finger me at any given moment. Add to that the whole time I've been watching football, my entire 28 year life, he's been on the telly winking at me like a gypsy who knows when I'm going to die. I swear to God the fuckers immortal, hasn't aged a bloody day! Still, hard to age when you look like a bean bag with wire wool for hair.
Look at him... mocking me with his noodlyness.
I just don't like him.
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