hertz is..............

[Seven Tattoos]

hertz is..........a bunch of poofs who went to a gay bar (19th century predecessor of CC Blooms) namin themselves over somethin you can gob at, lyin down on the Royal Mile (Justin Fudginu's fave sex game)
hertz is.........never attractin over 60,000 to a game in Edinburgh (something that was managed on more than one occasion by that wee, Fenian team)
hertz is.........representin Scotland in the European Cup and embarrassin the nation
hertz is...........gettin thumped 7-1 at home by boys from the jute city
hertz is........hosting a bunch of fermers from Ayrshire n losin the title to them
hertz is.........being four down after nine minutes against that wee, Fenian team
hertz is.........conceding a Pat Quinn hat-trick to that wee, Fenian team
hertz is.........never qualifying for the Drybrough Cup but participatin in the Anglo-Scottish and gettin pumped 8-0 by Burnley
hertz is.........hosting that wee, Fenian team the same historic day as Ted 'Fanny' Heath's Tories ensured that the UK joined the EEC.
hertz is.........they lost 7-0 to the wee team that day
hertz is..........not scorin against that wee, Fenian team for five whole years
hertz is..........changing their all blooded turd home strip into an Ajax version of the same colour (look like Ajax, play like Ajax MA BAWS!)
hertz is..........gettin relegated three times in five years
hertz is.........their supporters fightin amongst themselves when they lost to that wee, Fenian team in the Scottish Cup
hertz is.........the wanky hertz service crew fightin amongst themselves at First Division games
hertz is..........their supporters fightin amongst themselves again when Motherwell condemned them to a second successive season in the First Division (an ignominy that has never befell that wee, Fenian team)
hertz is........only winnin twice in fifteen years against that wee, Fenian team
hertz is.......donning jumpers from Ingleston market to re-record a song with the refrain 'Marshall's Chunky Chickens'
hertz is.........thousands of t-shirts with 'HMFC league champs 85-86' lyin in a shed somewhere
hertz is..........a Bobby Ball lookalike takin the field in the jute city and rainin on yer parade
hertz is..........throwin bananas at Mark Walters
hertz is..........singin 'We are the Billy Boys' LIKE THE HUNS
hertz is.........twirlin yer scarves LIKE THE HUNS
hertz is...........waving the union jack LIKE THE HUNS
hertz is..........waving the red hand of ulster LIKE THE HUNS
hertz is...........making nazi salutes LIKE THE HUNS
hertz is...........losing 3-0 to that wee, fenian team in the Millennium derby
hertz is.........no sellin all your tickets (cos of price ha ha)
hertz is..............concedin six goals that night (seven but for a bad refereeing decision)
hertz is..........stalkin a fat pastry magnet. with a mouser
hertz is..........being seduced by the lies of a lithuanian gangster
hertz is.........being deluded on Lithuanian Lithium
hertz is..........believin in the Pied Piper of Gorgie
hertz is...........embarrassin Scotland in the CL (ha ha) qualifiers
hertz is...........gettin phcuked by Sparta Prague
hertz is...........flats on Gorgie Road
hertz is...........NO FUTURE!

[Tully]

Choose Hertz, choose Gorgie, choose not winning the league by 7 minutes, choose Wayne Foster, choose a dafty with long hair greeting at Dens, choose Stevie Fulton.

Choose failing to close down your biggest rivals when they could be bought for a tenner, choose being 'classy' when half of your support is made up of chavs, choose singing songs about the UDA, choose a ten pound bag, choose Stephen Simmons.


Choose Wallace Mercer trying to kid people into believing that your a force when the truth is that you've won next to **** all for 40 years, choose getting a slagging about a game that occurred before most of you were even born but still embarrassing you.


Choose the Clock Inn, choose Dave McPherson, choose Kenny Aird, choose getting humped 6-2 by some Paisley team who everybody can beat and losing the league on goals, choose hiring an open-top bus to sit at the Maybury only for the driver to be in the pub by 4.30.


Choose selling out every home game with loads of empty seats and tickets available on the day; choose Hans Eskillson, choose relegation; choose to not be able to talk about once beating Real Madrid in a friendly match.


Choose Willie Pettigrew, choose taking the bait with a 7-0 haircut, choose The Gorgie Suite, choose Kenny Garland, choose going 32 games unbeaten in a row and getting nothing for it, choose a maroon coffin for a stand, choose Andy Davis.


Choose incessantly believing a shady Russian is not going to sell Tynecastle and shut Hearts down, only to sell all your shares to him as he invests heavily in 'the' team, writes millions of pounds of debt off but still suffers an increased loss and has yet to lay the first brick in the new main stand.


Choose Gary MacKay’s teeth, choose Burberry caps, kiddy-pants and shell-suits, choose flair-doo instead of hair-doo, choose thinking that 'Sweet Molly Malone' is not Irish Hibernia.


Choose Steven Pressley's highly concentrated speech impediment avoidance sessions when interviewed by the media, choose idolising a Hibby, choose Walter Kidd and calling him Zico only to believe he could actually recognise a football.

choose Alex MacDonald managing the only club he couldn't win anything at and still crying about it, choose hiring a manager on the sex register, choose being jealous of an old man who nonchalantly chipped the ball over his head as two of your goons ran past without having any idea where the ball was.

Choose defending your manager and claiming he was the guy who was conned, choose admitting that the term 'yam' totally irritates you, choose never having George Best even consider you.

Choose not getting a safety certificate, choose attacking Celtic fans with kids after the game because the ref 'conned' you, choose a pitch full of pot-holes, choose interviewing 20 household names for Director of Football and awarding the position to the “right man when he comes along”, choose Duff Jimmy instead.

Choose living in slums and raking the buckets for something to eat, choose forever knowing that you will never be the widely accepted best team in the city, choose offshore accounts, choose only one celebrity fan who plays snooker and even he told you to fuck off.

Choose Rebus the “Jambo” waving his Hibs scarf, choose windae-licking scarf twirling and thinking it's a fashion statement.

Choose one of your most celebrated eras being ten years of hatchet men like Pasquale Bruno. Choose Justin Fashanu and a bar of soap in the showers, choose going all the way to Dnipro only to find it a closed city and your playing down the local farmers field.

Choose never having beaten Liverpool, choose a terrible Trio to come second to a Famous Five, choose your best goalie for years captured in print with a rugby ball, choose industrial surroundings for industrial fitba'.

Choose deception and conspiracy by everyone apart from your own owner, choose a primary school fireworks display in broad daylight for about eight weeks; choose sacking your manager at the top of the league unbeaten.

Choose ten workies and a Czech mini bus driver for your transfer window coups, choose Callum Elliot's Starsky & Hutch hair, choose Wayne Foster's boyish good looks; choose your captain and his defensive partner slugging it out.

Choose the smell of hops for a hundred years, choose The Diggers and it's old men, choose £10K a week for the injured Stephane Adam as he strolled round Edinburgh all summer with his missus and baby in tow.

Choose getting a Steve Kirk rocket fired into your faces, choose not beating Frank Sauzee; choose waiting until he stopped that 70 yard run to celebrate with us, choose never being noted for doing anything constructive.

Choose winning 3-0 at Ibrox when the season was flat and nobody cared, choose an Alcoholic for a boss, choose being sponsored by MITA the year you “mita” won the league and you “mita” won the cup.

Choose Neil Berry, choose being envious of the world famous Hibees Bounce, choose Marshalls Chunky Chickens, Choose Hertz…..

Choose being second fiddle to the greatest institution on planet earth.

[Brainwrong]

Two feckin' class posts.

[bigmanandy]

Great posts....seen Tullys before i think....but both fuckin class like.

[beefy]

I enjoyed them
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[gandhi]

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Heinrich Hertz


gandhi

[Seven Tattoos]

hertz is.........being woken up this morning in ma wee box flat in Riverside and hearing Craig Gordon's dulcit tones as he claimed they need to retain the services of Ivorbiggun as manager and that, ACTUALLY, being knocked out of Europe at the same stage as the wee team is a blessing in disguise as they'll now concentrate on the title.