Forums / The hangaround / FM 2014 Kickabout

                           

Welcome friends and Brannigans Law. This is the FM 2014 VU thread. Regulars of the series will know that the purpose of these threads is to make fun of Bran and play a little FM on the side. Sadly, Bran is no longer with us in Dumbdumb chan. No, he isn't dead. Yes, we wish he was. But this means the "Hodor" position has now become available for prospective applicants. To apply, you need only act like a stupid motherfucker. The current odds on favourite for this role is Ford, closely followed by Osi, with David who nobody gives a fuck about trailing in third.



So who are the contenders for this years FM title, you ask?

First up it's Danwell Stirling. Many of you will remember how Danwell kicked his friend Moorely from LGC last year. Moorely doesn't, he's long since got over it. Never passes his mind. Ever. Since Danwell the duplicitious shithouse betrayed his friend, things have taken a turn for the worse for young funnybones. He's moved out of his mams house..to live next door, he has no internet, he has been embarrassed at FF and he accidently left Katey at the zoo when he mistakenly took a pig home with him in her place. Can he redeem himself? No, probably not.

FM prediction: 3rd


Who do we have next? Well, if it isn't Joshua Reedle. No, really it isn't. It's Benton Martin. Benton's like a badly written comic book hero. He has the pent up anger of Hulk, except he's perpetually green and lacks any physical strength. He claims to have the wealth and the women of a Bruce Wayne, but any money he has comes from his parents and the only woman he's ever shown us is his cousin. He ages like Peter Pan, never seeming to get to his 14th birthday and unlike Spiderman, his arch nemesis isn't the Green Goblin but is the Black Mudman. Benton's the original reloader.

FM prediction: 1st*

*Actual position after heavily scrutinized, investigated, debated, cross-referenced, checked for cheats and reloads: 5th


The legend of Legend. If I had a £1 for every time Legend ragequit, I could probably buy out Danwell's pound shop right now. The homophobic, nihilistic, antagonistic, humourless manic depressive Dutchie is a dark horse of the competition. He's so dark nobody can see him coming. One day he's threatening to quit FM because "it's shit" and he's close to being relegated and the next he's back with a new save, is 2 seasons down the line, several positions higher than us and has 2 cups in the bag. But he doesn't reload.

FM prediction: 6th*

*Dependent on whether he manages to keep his toys in his pram and plays beyond the first season. High chance he will RQ.


Run Reedle's head under a barcode reader and it will probably return with "nul". In part because his life is shit and he isn't worth anything, but mainly due to the fact that he isn't actually a barcode. He knows this to be true because he's tried it. Reedle's life right now plays out like the book "Great Expectations". He's Pip, born into abject poverty, trying to make his way in life as a gentleman. Pip is besotted with Estella, the fit but obnoxious gold-digging ASDA bird. Pip showers Estella with love, affection and chocolate bars. Estella doesn't return the love, but encourages his folly. Estella eventually marries and is fingerbanged by Pip's arch ASDA rival Bentley. The end. Also featuring: Wemmick (Moorely), the friendly old clerk who helps Reedle. Magwitch (Benton), the convict. Mrs Havisham (Jenna), the old crone who hates Reedle. Orlock (Danwell), the simple minded lout.

FM prediction: 2nd


هاها يا جيدا .. يصل المقبل هو Fordius، وdurka durka، يرتدي البرقع رجل مجنون .. إذا  :P Fordius هو للعب هذا العام، وقال انه سيكون على الارجح الى اللعب وحده. لأن هذا هو كل ما من أي وقت مضى سخيف لا الاصحاب. أنا لست متأكدا تماما لماذا في الواقع أنا يكلف نفسه عناء محاولة سلسلة من الأحكام متماسكة هنا لأنني في كتابة الاصحاب العربية سخيف. lol العربية لول. في الواقع، اللعنة عليه. التعبيرات الطنانة الوقت. Fordius. :) الترسانة. الساقين. لا شيء. سكايب. النكات. النص المحذوف. ذلك حول هذا الموضوع على ما أعتقد. :)))

FM prediction: 1st*

*If playing alone as Arsenal. If he's actually playing with us, 4th


And finally, it's the one you've all come to see. The main attraction, the deliverer of bants and giggles. The (soon to be) FF champion (fuck off Suarez. Seriously. Fuck off), attempting to win and combine the FF/FM belts. It's the ballroom dancing, hair combing, knee deep womanizing, regularly stalked, life saving, FM-being-FM, wing manning connoisseur, Mr. Legacy himself: It's Dr. Moorely.

FM prediction: 1st




Not involved in this game currently (mainly because they're too poor to afford it or can't handle the bants):

• Thick as pig shit, dull as a doorknob, opiated opinions, it's your boy Brannigan's "the true Dumbdumb" Law.
• Lacking any form of personality or humour and constantly crying for attention. Did you know he beat LGC once? If it isn't Osi.*
• Chade or David. Maybe even both. Can't remember. I never pay any attention to what they have to say. One of them said they might be interested in it, anyway.
  

THE LEAGUE? LEAGUE 1.
THE TEAM? Crewe Alexandra F.C.
THE TIME? Now.

LET'S GET IT ON

Information will be posted soon about the competition.

Playing as Crewe aswell.

Reedle and Benton hide behind mammy Moorely's coatails, too scared to post. Danwell cries, wipes his eyes and tugs at Moorelys sleeve trying to get his attention. Ford is being pushed in a wheel chair for obvious reasons. FM is too big a task for these boys to handle. They gaze upwards at Mammy Moorely looking for  reassuring words, an encouraging smile or a stooped pat on a cripples head. Before them lies the a slumped FM, breathing heavily.


FM fingers Moorely, motioning for him to come forward.
"Leave me, friend" it wheezes. b
Mammy Moorely shakes his head despondently, looks it up and down and kneels before the lifeless thread.
"FM, what have they done to you?"
FM turns its head to one side, a tear rolls down its cheek.
"I am done for. They have killed me through neglect and bad posts. Tell FM threads 2012 and 13 I love them."
"No!" cries Moorely. "I won't give up on you yet FM!".And with that he tears off his Mammy Moorely overalls to reveal a Doctors uniform. Reedle, Benton and Danwell stagger backwards mouths agape as a blinding light emits from a crescent shaped emblem on Moorely's torso. Fordius sits where he is because nobody thought to roll him away. The Doctor leans over FM, purses his lips and applies the kiss of life to the thread.

He has returned. The young'un. The cock o' the south. The great white hope. The bringer of bants. The ribber of Reedle. The last of Legacy. He goes by many names and faces, lives in many towns and cities, admires many women and sometimes he talks to them. All Danwell knows from extensive google searches and forum trawls is that he's the connoisseur and he has two cats. Moorely, saviour of FM has arrived.

"ok"





Crewe started out with a decent in areas but otherwise unspectacular squad. We had a couple standout players in Aneke and Clayton, a very good youth set up, good midfield and little else to shout about. In hindsight I should have probably focused on reinforcing my defence in the summer transfer window given how poor my fullbacks would prove to be, but I got a little distracted by midfielders and ended up loaning more of them than I could use to the point where I ended some prematurely in the end. Hughes and O'Keefe  (later sent packing) were loaned in as CMs and used sparingly (largely due to Aneke's and later Inman's brilliant form). Clayton was sold for £5m and re-loaned (thanks to Danwell for having a big mouth and bragging about that coup, allowing the whole world (bar Reedle) to copy him. I think Benton probably got £20m or something) to me but played wank all season and only got 3 goals/9 assists from 40 apps (all comps). Adam Morgan was loaned from Liverpool as a back-up striker (due to Pogba's long term injury), ended up displacing the misfiring Clayton and performed only marginally better with 6 goals, 3 assists in 42 apps. Byrom was loaned in from division rivals Preston to play on the wing, was pretty anonymous, spent most of the season on the bench (I ended up arguing with Simon Grayson 4 times because of this..and he called my GK shit! The shit..) and finished with 1 goal and 2 assists from 23 apps. Fuck me, this is painting a depressing picture. It get's worse though, mates. The only defender I actually brought in was Danny Potts who I can safely say, hand on heart, is the worst player I've ever bought. It wouldn't have mattered so much if I didn't play him, but I needed to rotate. He finished the season with a 6.77 avg and I'm positive that's skewed because of a game where he fluked a 7.8. He routinely played at 6.3~ and watching him play was more painful than Reedle's attempts at seducing Sarah. Then I bought Gary Alexander in Jan on a FT. Great stats, fantastic I thought. Getting a right bargain. "Gary Alexander is ineligble to play in the league." Wat. Checks history. Already played for 2 clubs this season.



Despite all the doom, gloom and a shitty picture painted that resembles Chesterfield, I did unearth 1 nugget from my total failure in the transfer market. His name was Adriano Basso. And I called him Baz. Baz was 39 years young, born in 1975, the year of the rabbit. Coincidently 1975 is the name of a shit band which Sarah likes and she goes at it like a rabbit with Reedle's arch nemesis: cockblock. Baz was a wunderbar GK and played a pivitol role in my campaign, finishing with 23 clean sheets from 48 games. I'm adamant that Potts accounted for at least half of the other goals conceded. Also, fuck off anybody who suggests that Reedle suggested Baz to me because he's a former Hull player. First of all, Reedle only started following Hull once they got promoted to the PL. And secondly, Reedle is too busy scouting Troyes players with Benton to notice la legit scouted GK (or goaltender/netdefender as Benton would probably call him).



"Okay, Moorely." you may well say. "So you did shit in the market, what about the rest of your players?". Well friends, they were reet good. Oliver (7.07) led the line for 2/3 of the season and finished our top goalscorer with 16 goals and 9 assists from 43 apps. Pogba (7.08) returned from injury around January-ish and replaced Oliver, finishing with a respectable 10 goals/2 assists from 29 apps. Leitch-Smith was a good (considering his atrocious stats) impact player and scored 7 from the wing from 33 apps and Inman (7.01) was a driving force in AM with 7 goals and 5 assists in 32 games. Davis, my shit Xtian-inspired haired CB pitched in with 8 goals from 52 games. Aneke (6.99) and Colclough (6.86) got 2 goals and 8 assists each. Osman was a brick shithouse (6.94). Did I mention how shit Potts was?


So, the season?

We started out with a tough set of fixtures and we performed pretty poorly early on (DLLWL). The task was compounded by the need for tactical alterations. We begun with a straight 4-4-2 which left us horribly exposed at the back, while the alternative 4-1-4-1 was ineffective going forward. Eventually I settled on a staggered 4-1-2-2-1 formation. In offensive transitions the lone DM (Osman) would hold his position and make a make shift 3rd centreback (similar to how my Troyes team operated in FM13) while my fullbacks (they're fucking wank btw. Really need to get rid) would push up the flanks and provide support. On the left wing I would usually play Leitch-Smith as an inverted striker, he would move infield allowing the LB to provide width and bomb ahead. On the right, my son or Colclough would hug the touchline and play as out-and-out wingers. In CM I initially played Aneke as a B2B midfielder. Going forward, he was great. But he could never be fucked to get back and defend counters, so I made him sit as a supporting CM in the end. In the hole I played with a shadow striker for about half the season (either Morgan or Clayton), but they were frustratingly bad and in the end I dropped both of them and started playing Inman more regularly as an AM/AP. He was fucking great. Linked up the midfield and attack well, plays beautiful through balls and made a lot of late runs to score his fair share too. Up top Oliver as a TM. Now before Danwell in his perpetual football ignorance cries "long ball" (only joking, Danwell doesn't read posts. He looks for pictures and occassionally CTRL + F's his name), think Arsenal/Giroud, not Stoke/Crouch. Brilliant control, brilliant hold up play, brilliant vision, brilliant finishing.  That's Oliver. In goal we had had Basso the Blessed. Enough said.



After the tactical alterations took shape our form picked up. We won 3 of the next 5 league games and worked our way up the table. During this time we played Hull in the 2nd round of the LC, Shrewsbury in the 2nd round of the JPT and Wolves in the 3rd round of the FA cup. We bombed out of all the competitions. But nobody gives a fuck about them anyway. Around late November we went on a brilliant run of form and went unbeaten in the league for 12 games and 8 without conceding (common factor: no Potts present) before slumping to Stevenage. In the end we finished the season a respectable 6th with the 2nd best defensive record in the league. 19 wins, 19 draws, 8 losses, 37 conceded. Moorely proven to be the master of defence once again. Now we would play Sheff Wed in the play off semis. In the first leg at home fuck all happened and it ended 0-0.


I'm like Terry. - the mates missus shagging (wouldn't mind a go at KT though), + the racism


Then we visited Bramell Lane for the 2nd leg. Within 20 minutes we were 2-0 up. Aneke, Pogba and Osman were playing brilliant. I was getting cocky, I was calling it on skype. Then FM FM'ed.

[19/12/2013 19:43:45] SWIFTY bigclock .: game over. aneke dribbles past 3 players, sets up osman, goal
[19/12/2013 19:44:10] SWIFTY bigclock .: disregard
[19/12/2013 19:44:14] SWIFTY bigclock .: wednesday score

Mellor scored an own goal. Then Baz was defeated at the near post by some foreign sounding guy. The opposition goalie tried take a quick throw, Aneke ran in front of him, the goalie threw the ball at Aneke's head and the ref immediately whistled and booked Aneke for diving.. even though Aneke didn't fall over. I was wavering. Wednesday hit the post and scored a tap in. 3-2. The lights were fading around me, I was drifting into darkness. Was this the end? No, I wasn't ready yet. I told me mam to stop fucking about with the light switch, I sat up and I FM'ed. 72nd minute Hughes (in place of the injured Inman) plays Aneke through, he dribbles past 3 players, bears down on goal, rounds the goalkeeper.. goal! 3-3. We hold for E.T and then penalties. Throughout the campaign I have seen my boys turn into men. I have seen them grow, mature. I have nurtured and instilled confidence and belief in them. I knew that when they stepped up to the penalty spot, I could rely on them. They were brave, they were warriors. They were everything LGC no longer is. Wednesday went first. They squeezed it past Baz. I'm not saying he's fat, he's the opposite in fact. Quite lean. He nearly got to the ball, that's all. 1-0. Oliver steps up. He smashes it in harder than cockblock does Sarah's backdoor. 1-1. Some guy called Sheehan walks up for Wednesday. Baz gives it the ol' Grobbelaar/Fordius spaghetti legs routine.



Sheehan is thrown. Baz saves! Aneke steps up. He didn't fuck about: he ran up, blasted the ball into the roof of the net and ran off to collect his prized KFC bucket. 1-2. Some Irish guy scores. 2-2. What the fuck is my son doing? He misses. Byron, you've left the fucking family down. Also, you've got a big forehead. It stays at 2-2. Wednesday can go ahead, but they don't. Because Baz is a fucking boss. Colclough scores, we're ahead again. I can taste victory on my lips. Either that or the remnants of my Roysters BBQ crisps. Cuvelier scores for Wedsneday. 3-3. I used to have him in FM 2008/9 I think. Good player. Now it's all or nothing. Captain Davis steps up. He looks at me longingly like I'm Mammy Moorely again. We lock eyes. I nod at him and murmur "do it lad, do it for the boys". But he can't make out what I'm saying because I'm about 45 yards away. He scratches his head and yells "What, boss? What are you saying?". I make a kicking motion with my leg and an invisible. He nods. He understands now. The age old art of sign language. I could of done the job at Mandela's gig easy. Mud, miming and a lot of fake tears. Easy. Davis runs up and thunders the ball into the back of the net. 3-4. We've won! Fucking hell, I just realised this is only the semis. I can't be fucked writing this shit for the finals too. Also Baz, I love you mate, but that was a bit bad bell of you.




In the finals we were pitted against Preston. They took the lead on 13 minutes when their GK took a goalkick, the ball floated down field and my fullback missed the ball completely, Baseya ran through on goal and slotted in. I instinctively kicked out, slammed my fists on the floor and yelled "FUCKING POTTS! IT'S ALWAYS FUCKING POTTS ISNT IT!". "What, boss?" he asked, sat beside me on the bench. Pogba equalised 5 minutes later from a near post flick on at a corner. Then we applied the pressure. Ellis headered home from..the far post..from a corner. 2-1. COUNTER. DEFENSIVE. CONTAIN. My fullbacks are fucking up. No Inman available. Pogba is taken off injured. Oliver is my only striker on the bench and he hasn't scored in 9 games.  Fucking Beavon. 2-2. 20 mins to go. Preston have me bent over and are fucking me now. It's like the tugboat to Amsterdam all over again and Reedle isn't invited to the bedroom. Again. Can we hold out for the penalties and Blessed Baz again?

5 minutes to go. I have a plan. I tell my assistant to go get me some fried chicken. "Is now really a good time, boss?". "For fucks sake Bran" I bellow. "Just serve it up already." He scurries off. I check my watch. 4 minutes to go. 3. I look around nervously. 2. He's back! I grab the chicken from Bran's arms and charge up the touchline. "Pass the ball to Colclough" I scream. 89 minutes on the clock. They give him it. Colclough is on the ball, he darts up the wing. Oliver follows me and the scent of the chicken up the pitch and towards the by-line. I make a dart for the goal posts and yell "cross it!". Colclough obliges. He whips in a delicious ball, Oliver dives towards me and the chicken at the near post. The ball bounces off his head and pings past the GK into the net. 3-2! "You've fucking done it!" I cry excitedly, jumping up and down on the spot. Oliver does the same with a confused look, chicken grease dripping off his face. "We're the 6th placed champions!"











Next update will probably be in 3-4 weeks. Cy@