Because Barça is Eric Abidal who is ready to leave a club that pays him very well just because they treated his friend badly. Because Barça is Tito Vilanova who didn’t give up until his last breathe and was so in love with Barça that he leaves his sickbed and came to watch Barça. Because Barça is Xavi who unconditionally loves this club. Because Barça is Puyol who is always ready to fight for us with all his heart and came back to defend our goal even whe he was injured. Barça is Messi who is determined, loyal and self sacrificing. Barça is Pep because you know he always comes back even if we hurt him more than before.
Yes, players come and go but their marks don’t fade from this club. Every player who kisses this crest adds something more. And this is exactly what Barça is. A whole made of little pieces. And Barça is beautiful. Barça is more than a club and even those idiots called our board can’t change that. Because one day they will leave and Barça will still be there.
And unlike other people I don’t think supporting a team for a single player is a bad thing. You are free to do whatever you want. I cant judge you. But it’s so hard for me to understand. Okay you started to support this club because Messi or Iniesta or Xavi is there. But after a while.. how can you not fall in love with this beautiful club?
I love Barça as a mad man loves his lover. I know it’s probably not healthy and I am just another crazy person but it has my whole heart. And players are the beauty of it. My lover can get older and lose her beautiful brown hair or her baby-like skin. But that won’t change my love for her. She still will be the most beautiful thing in the world for me. It will only change the way other people look at her. And I don’t give a fuck about their opinions.
Combinations we’d never even dreamed of:
Names too long to remember.
Dark chocolate ice cream with raspberry
cheesecake pieces and caramel bonbons,
sweet cream ice cream with bumbleberry compote
and jordan almond fudge chunks.
After rinsing our mouths with toothpaste
and slicking lip gloss over our teeth
like a film of wax, we pounded the two miles
of sweating concrete every Wednesday at eight p.m,
an army of cheap earrings and thin ankles.
We didn’t ask our mothers if we could
shave our legs, but left shreds of bloody
toilet paper like one hundred tiny flames
in the trash can for them to clean up. We wore
our t-shirts low and swinging. We ogled at the brass
chins of boys too distracted to flirt back.
We filched twenties out of our mothers’ purses
and our fathers’ worn leather wallets and blew them every
week on portions of red velvet cheesecake
supreme so big they seemed impossible.
On Sundays, we went back after swimming
in the local pool, clad in the bikinis our mothers
did not allow us to buy. We liked the way
our salted hair swung damp over one shoulder.
We liked the way this left wet spots on our t-shirts,
liked any mark we left on anything.
Workers clad in red aprons scooped ice cream
and poured caramel and bleeding
maraschino cherries over chocolates and
thick sauces, mashing them together with two
silver spoons, turning and twisting this glob
so loudly it made our teeth hurt.
All of us thirteen and shining in our new bodies.
Our hands still pink and bruised from the
chlorine clutching cardboard cups disintegrating
under the waning heat of the Midwest.
None of our mothers were dying of cancer. None
of us worried about our children perishing in motor-boat
crashes or freak accidents at bowling alleys.
The gangly workers used to go down the line
of plastic trays: sweaty gummy worms,
cookie crumbs big as pennies, red and white sprinkles,
dark and white chocolate chips, caramel sauce
glazed over from the air conditioning, and each
time they would ask us if we wanted the topping,
spoons already full and sloping.
We nodded, eyes bright and hungry.
We said yes to everything. We thought
what magnificent women we’d be.
So heres my follow forever some ppl asked for if youre here i FUCKING love your blog and yeah good Shit hahaha and sorry if i forget u please tell me
Check out the /blogroll
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- Fuck it, I will take you with me. You might learn something.
- About soccer ?
- No mate. Not about soccer, AND FOR FUCK SAKE, STOP SAYING SOCCER !
my parents and i go way back
Via Mario Balotelli’s Instagram, here he is reading “I Am Zlatan” while doing a bunch of other things.
I warned you
when annoying ass know nothing ass ~fans disappear after the world cup