#Who is Chelsea Manning?

[dotpyenji]

🩷 happy Valentine's Problematic Rabbit day

[sonego]

i'm curious what's your deal breaker team when it comes to following sports blogs on here? like the person seems the coolest, funniest, sweetest, with correct opinions, supports another team you love, just someone you'd definitely wanna follow... but the thought of seeing so much of that team on your dash even if you can blacklist it and try to avoid it as much as possible is just too much?

[tantquelanuitdurera]

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about gender flipped Jamie because that seems like So Many Thoughts that I would love to hear

I have so many thoughts and yet they are so ephemeral and unspecific and this has been languishing in my askbox and this isn't technically what you asked for but here's what I wrote instead:

Chelsea sent Roy into retirement the way you sent an aging dog to be euthanized. Slowly and gradually, an inescapable march towards a day you knew was coming. Roy's agent gently broke the news to him that they wouldn't be renewing his contract, but there was no gently breaking Roy.

The retirement itself was an underwhelming affair; he stayed numb throughout the presser, answered questions, and left the spotlight. No bang--not even a whimper.

That was months ago. Now Roy Kent, former Chelsea star, was daydrinking at a bar in Richmond at half-three in the afternoon, wondering if he could convince the matron of the house to change the fucking channel.

"Rough season our girls have had," the proprietor, Mae, explained in a tone befitting a bartender cleaning a pint. In reality, she'd joined Roy at the bar with her own glass of chardonnay. "Lot of shake ups. New owner, new gaffer. Still, it could be worse. This new coach of theirs might be from the States, but we're sitting higher up on the table than we have in years. Does your lot keep up with the Super League, then?"

It was one in a series of loaded questions. Roy couldn't imagine you could be a bartender in London without knowing who Roy Kent was. Sheer wasted optimism, he'd had, moving out of Chelsea and assuming anything short of leaving the country would get him away from the haunting specter of his own fucking jersey.

"Yeah," Roy answered reluctantly. "Yeah, some of us keep up. All the teams in the Premier have sister teams, don't we?" Except for Richmond. The one outlier--the only team in the league without a big brother to speak of.

"Mm. Then you heard about the scandal?"

Roy grunted. Of course he heard. Everyone knew about Rupert Mannion ages ago; it was about bloody time someone did something. Awful for his ex-wife that it'd fallen to her to do it.

Mae topped off his chardonnay before pouring the remainder of the bottle into her own glass. "This new gaffer though, he's one of the good ones. He hangs around here sometimes, and you can tell just by listening to him--he respects those girls."

Since retiring, Roy had gotten used to living in a fog. He spent time with his niece, met with the yoga mums, let old ladies in bars talk his ears off to their heart's content, but anything he did between those events was a drudgery--a slow painful effort to drag one foot in front of the other, metaphorically and physically.

So he couldn't have said what it was about Mae's offhand praise for the Richmond Whippet's new gaffer that rankled him into talking back.

"Is he any good though?"

"What was that?"

"Their new coach," Roy gestured with his wine glass at the television in the corner. "The American. Is he any good?"

Mae shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten better."

"So not really then."

The look Mae gave him could've scoured paint from a wall. "Well, talent isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Kent?"

She left under the guise of check on the three men in the corner. Regulars, by the looks of it; and the three of them the only ones aside from Mae wearing supporting colors for the local team.

He hadn't watched a match in ages. Oh, he'd caught highlights--it was impossible not too--but the few times he'd tried, unfairness ballooned in his chest like an atom bomb, and he gave up.

He hadn't bothered to watch anything from the women's league either. What difference would it make to try watching a different league. Sure, he didn't know any of them the way he knew the men in the Premier League, but football was football and envy was envy.

From what little he'd seen so far, he didn't envy Richmond at all. Everton had them on the ropes.

Roy winced as Number 14 knocked one off the crossbar. It'd been a good attempt. A solid cross from Number 9 had put it in the path, but with no one else nearby she'd gone for a risky shot.

From what little he'd paid attention to, only 9 and 14 were making any actual progress on the pitch, with 9 working double time to cut up the field. Every time the ball dropped back down the center, Richmond lost possession. Every. Time.

It was Number 6 that was the problem. McNally, that was it. Red-head, center-mid, captain. Roy knew her by reputation. A tough, seasoned player, who'd gotten her fair collection of caps for England. She had the experience; it didn't make any fucking sense why she'd be the weak link.

Roy looked away. He took a gulp of his chardonnay and relished in the unpleasant way it stung his nose. It'd be masochism to keep watching.

He kept watching.

Within five minutes, he'd cracked it.

Number 6 refused to pass to Number 9.

The gameplay split off like a branching tree. Either 6 got possession, crossed to another player, and they lost it to Everton's deep defensive line; or 9 got it herself and took it up the field, at which point the entire Richmond side narrowed down to the actions of 9 and 14.

What the fuck was going on?

In the aerial cameras showed two Everton players marking Number 9. Number 6 crossed to Number 24, and 24 took it to the net only for a defender to block her out easily.

A close up lingered on Number 24. She couldn't have looked more upset with herself. Young thing. Good talent, bad nerves. Fixable with the right support.

Number 6 got into Number 9's face and shouted. So where's her fucking support?

The camera panned in on 6 and 9 as what looked like a shouting match took place between the teammates. There was McNally, red-haired and red-faced and openly swearing even if the mics couldn't pick it up, and then there was Number 9. A cut of a girl, strong featured and iron-jawed, with her forehead set down like she intended to ram McNally like a bull if the captain came any closer.

What a fucking mess.

The camera panned to the gaffer, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown under his mustache. He called neither player off.

The match went back into play and almost immediately Number 9 took a foul. A blatant hit, tackled before she could grab possession again. Everton had singled her out just as clearly as Roy had.

Number 6 stood off to the side while 14 and 24 argued with the ref. The captain watched in open annoyance as Number 9 levered herself off the ground with a wince, her left side stained with grass and a limp.

Some fucking captain.

Number 9 took position for a free kick, and her name finally flashed across the screen in a font large enough for Roy to read. Jamie Tartt. Tartt lined up for the kick, for all the good it would do when she was a good forty meters back--

Tartt walloped the ball cleanly into the net.

A frisson of electricity ran down Roy's spine.

The lads at the end of the bar broke into cheers.

Half of the Richmond Whippets descended on Tartt. The other half shuffled around in discontent.

Number 24--Obisanya--nodded at Tartt, who nodded back. They didn't hug.

Extricating herself from (half) of her teammates, Tartt threw an arm around the only person she'd passed to all night--14, Rojas. Heads pressed together, headband to matching headband, they looked furtive and serious in their two-person huddle.

The camera panned back to the gaffer. He clapped but he didn't celebrate.

The whole thing was bizarre.

No, Mae was right; talent wasn't everything. Because Richmond had talent--what a spectacular fucking goal--and they were a fucking mess, like nothing Roy had ever witnessed before in his career.

If Mae was willing to put up with him, he might have to come back for the next match. Who knew, maybe he'd try swinging by on an off-match day to catch their gaffer and give him a piece of his mind.

Finally, something to look forward to. His sister would be so proud.

[piarles]

i am being persecuted for telling the truth (dilf fernando torres is hot)

[trentskis]

what i did appreciate from the spurs players tho is that they consoled joel and virg at the end of the game, it was very sweet. idk how u see it but honestly i didn’t mind that they celebrated, love em or hate em they’ve had a very rough go of it and it’s always nice to see players and fans connect, it reminds me a bit of the lfc v west brom 2-2 all those years ago which is why i feel a bit embarrassed for other lfc fans suddenly being all celebration police esp bc the players can’t do anything abt the ref fucking up 😭 also the song they played in their stadium after it ended is stuck in my head what a disco banger lol

i genuinely appreciate that you can have this mindset so i don't mean to dismiss it in any way but im not normal so when my team loses i feel nothing but burning and intense hatred for every opposition player on the pitch the manager the coaching staff and everything any of them do disgusts me so i can't relate to this, but thank u for sending anyway!!! and hope u have a nice day 💓

[swaggypsyduck]

see trent all u have to do is this!! we dont want u to bring jude to THAT MAN'S concert. just some nice rest and relaxation

[vanilasky]

I really hope that men who are now throwing shit at Mason for not playing on the expected level/leaving their favourite club won't be praising him if he ever does the same interview as Dele Ali. And I hope he won't have to do this.

[garciapimienta]

chelsea fans who are happy about this will regret it so badly

[chelseasdagger]

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[pirate-in-daps]

beware controversial uk football opinions below i don't watch football or follow football so don't come for my jugular please and thanks

i'm not a man city fan but the bare hatred people have for them is wild like

all footie teams but esp premier league teams are the same babes join us lot in league 1 if you're saying your team isn't "like that" and you'll see how "like that" they are

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

really genuinely holding myself back from writing 10 fix it fics for ted lasso. i'm not convinced i can get the voices right but i have so many ideas bc there's so much PotENTIAL and so many things i want from the ted lasso universe that we never got bc we instead had to watch beard and his abusive horrible girlfriend

[bluesundaymorn]

Getting those stares from the people at the restaurant while eating dinner with an older looking friend 👍👍👍👍

[ryukisgod]

I think we need to get rid of the positive connotations of “consequences for you actions.” I think it it should be neutral now.

For example let’s look at whistle blowing, if you expose the illegal policies of your employer the consequence is that you will be fired, and if you’re a government worker, law enforcement agencies will prosecute you and have you thrown in prison. Whistle blowers know this will be the consequences of their actions and they choose to do the right thing anyway, they are heroes, and the ones administering the “consequences” are immoral.

If a victim of domestic abuse stands up for themselves eg a child or partner, they know the consequences for their actions will be violence. “Consequences for your actions” has a positive connotation for the abuser, and a negative one for the person with the bruises.

[clare-with-no-i]

I have a weird question, but where do you headcanon Lily comes from? Like which part of UK?

not a weird question at all! I generally prefer to HC her as northern, but more specifically I often like to write her as being from a suburb of Manchester! I haven’t decided which football team to have her support though, so if there are any Mancunians around, do you think she’d go Man U or Man City or other ???