[Archived] A Break With Tradition

[SIMON GARNERS 194]

“For our average attendance, we’ll be the 21st out of 24 teams. But in terms of percentage that come to watch we’re probably the best supported team in world football......Owen Coyle.

OH FFS!!!!!

[yoda]

“For our average attendance, we’ll be the 21st out of 24 teams. But in terms of percentage that come to watch we’re probably the best supported team in world football......Owen Coyle.

OH FFS!!!!!

there is definately something in the water in dingleland

[Rovermatt]

Ok this is getting beyond a joke. Burnley have had their fun but they can't be allowed to get above their station and find themselves in the big leagues. The inevitable early pace-setting of at least one ex-Championship side each season, along with the law averages, would surely put us on a path to a grim loss at Turf Moor early on. Reading really need to do us a favour.

[The Prof.]

I think it was outside the box for the pen!!

Bikey, disgrace, yet hilarious. Stomps on Blake then acts as if he did nothing!

Yeah but even though it was on TV I ran into the kitchen when Bikay took his shirt off! If Blake was half a Dingle he would have got up and sorted him out. Puff.

[SIMON GARNERS 194]

Sad thing is Reading cant win for Toffee at home.

[The Prof.]

someone else is doing it for him

Oh.. Ughhhh!

[adopted scouser]

Don't worry of they get promoted.

They'll go down faster than a Burnley girl when her Dad comes home.

[Gav]

Reading clearly the better side tonight, lets hope they can finish them off in the return leg.

[alexanders]

Bikey is a crazy dude;

[ABBEY]

please PLEASE PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

LOCK THIS CHUFFING THREAD UNTIL THEY GET KNOCKED OUT ..ITS BAD MOJ IM TELL YA!!!!!

[SamDingle]

please PLEASE PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

LOCK THIS CHUFFING THREAD UNTIL THEY GET KNOCKED OUT ..ITS BAD MOJ IM TELL YA!!!!!

There's an air of inevitability about our promotion now.

To play as poorly as that and still win.. time to get used to it kids, the Dingles in the Premiership.

[Billy Castell]

You do realise who silly you'll look if Burnley don't go up now don't you Sam? Well, more silly than usual

If you do go up will your team have a parade in an open top mini, with literally hundreds of people leaving the job centre queue to see their heroes? The Stella would really be flowing down the Dingle Dome.

[Sysagent]

There's an air of inevitability about our promotion now.

To play as poorly as that and still win.. time to get used to it kids, the Dingles in the Premiership.

Meanwhile in the real World...

[Ossydave]

Christ that was an awful game, neither team deserve to go up on that showing.

[philipl]

I agree with Sam.

Dingle promotion is now 100% assured.

© South Australian Rovers' strap line.

[SD4E]

the silly thing is the catchment area of burnley includes padiham, brierfield, barrowford, colne, rawtenstall etc and is actually bigger than Blackburn with Darwen population wise.

it is just ignored by dingles trying to justify sh*te attendances with the old tiny burnley town claptrap.

they can deny this, but if they do they are wrong. but hey, we all know they do like to tell lies quite often.

[thenodrog]

There's an air of inevitability about our promotion now.

To play as poorly as that and still win.. time to get used to it kids, the Dingles in the Premiership.

In that case PNE are already up by all accounts of their performance on Fri.

[gillibrand]

As long as one of the local clubs come up it will be beneficial fore attendances.

[Guest Wen Y Hu]

“For our average attendance, we’ll be the 21st out of 24 teams. But in terms of percentage that come to watch we’re probably the best supported team in world football......Owen Coyle.

OH FFS!!!!!

Flamin' brilliant! Just when you thought you'd heard it all, the Dingles out-dingle you, smashing every preconception you had about sentient life on earth. Better than smashing up every conceivable thing in town, I suppose, though.

Like many on here, I couldn't work out why Owen Coyle had succumbed to Dingleology. Then it started to dawn on me. Owen as a first name? Coyle - that sounds strangely familiar. Coil. Coitus. Soil. Boil. Zit. Foil. Cheat. Toil. Tolstoy. Doil... Doil? Crikey, that's it! Doyle! Owen Coyle is nothing but a fictional (and crass) creation of the warped Dingle mind: an attempt at a spoonerism, a play on a rhyme, a simple replacement of letters. Indeed, surely they'll be calling him Sir Owen Coyle if they go up. Owen Coyle is but the embodiment of a fictional character from a golden era a century ago when the Dingles were actually any good...

**********************

Sir Owen Coyle, master mind, and the Digital Dingles

Deep in the bowels of The Turf in a secret hole barely big enough for a Mini Cooper, the masterful mind that had masterminded the Dingles' crawl into the play-offs spoke to the countless multitude of Dingles that had gathered to hear His Master's Voice. Between puffs on his pipe - that conjured up the suspicion of Woodbines - he addressed the assembly in hushed tones.

"It's quite elementary, dear Dingles. Since we have defeated the most attractive football-playing team in the whole of this Championship land - outside of ourselves, of course - and since it is quite evident that our opponents, worthy opponents as they unquestionably are, I might add, are greatly inferior at their home ground in Reading town, a place in the final at Wembley is already assured."

A great, deafening roar rang out and the multitude of Dingles went delirious. The master was less happy with this and was also concerned that local residents might mistake the tumultuous noise for gas pipe problems or, even worse, sewage problems. The last thing the club would want was a visit from the Water Board - the unpaid bills was one thing, but having the Water Board inspectors round to discover the old Longside toilet facilities was another thing. If they could just hang on until they could get their hands on the Sky money, they'd be able to install a proper sewage system and all their problems would be flushed away for ever.

The multitude calmed down and he was able to continue: "And since our opponents at Wembley will surely be the cloggers from Sheffield city, we have little to fear as we have already shown ourselves to be superior in sporting execution as well as in moral rectitude."

"So, you mean..."

"Yes, you are right. We are already among the elite in the Premiership land."

"Unless, of course..."

"Yes, unless, of course, the dastardly FA intervene and conspire against us."

"You mean..."

"Yes, that's right. As we speak, word is out in a Yard in Nelson that a dastardly plot is afoot at the FA."

"Oh, my goodness, you mean they're going to plough the pitch at Wembley."

"Yes, I understand so. But not to fear - it shan't make too much difference, dear Dingles, because we shall counteract this in the only way we can..."

"You mean... Surely not...?"

"Yes, you have excelled yourselves yet again in your application of logic, dear Dingles. We're going to have to take even more fans to Wembley..."

**********************

Well, do you think we're being a bit harsh on our close neighbours from Dingledom regarding their reporting of numbers? Harsh, but not harsh enough, of course. (And, I might add, close neighbours as in distance rather than evolutionary terms.)

Anyway, I've been trying to work out some reasonable, yet somehow convoluted, explanation of the matter befitting our neighbours' logic. And I think I may have worked it out. Bear with me...

You see, we rational beings from the bright side of the M65 base our logic on a binary system that allows us to understand the most complex of problems and issues. For example: we hate Man United; more specifically we hate United fans and we hate RFW. This in itself is perfectly rational. And we can quantify this loathing. We show our feelings to the United fans. How many hands did we use? Two. Therefore, by simple application of logic it follows that the answer is four. Two hands; two fingers per hand; four fingers total. Easy.

But what happens if you're not sure how many fingers you stuck up? Or you're not even sure how many fingers you've got on each hand? Or what if it's your digits on your feet that you are sticking up as you swing from the rafters of the Longside (or Darwen End, anyone...)? It's an infinitely more complex matter because the Dingles came to base their system of logic not on a binary but on a digital system. Or, more accurately, a digit system.

Consider the science here. As we know, not all Dingles have the same number of digits on their hands, not to mention their feet. So, we're not talking decimal or even hexidecimal here - we're talking mindboggling indices with variables built in. We're talking crap. Absolute and utter crap.

So, down at Ewood we have always worked out the size of the crowd in a rational fashion - even during the lean years of the 1970s. Consider this likely conversation on the terraces from the mid '70s:

"What d'ya reckon's on today, 10 thousand?"

"Aye, maybe more. Two extra turnstiles on, y' know."

"12 thousand?"

"Aye, about that."

"So it'll be the usual, then?"

"Aye, expect so."

And so it was that the official attendance was always 8,000 week in, week out, and it was accepted as the way of the world. An established, rational order.

Yet in the fabled land of Dingledom, they are entrapped by a digital system as impenetrable as a Frank Sinclair-marshalled defence and as incomprehensible as Ralph Coates' comb-over job.

Here's how it goes. It starts off with a rough estimate of just how many digits they reckon are on the ground. Don't forget all the variables involved. Then they have to divide this number by the number of digits they reckon everyone has. Remember all the variables involved now. But it's so bleedin' complicated that they have to employ a method of rationalising the process known as blustering (or BS). Basically they choose a random number between 10 and zero - 10 being an idealised number (it would be 20 but they're struggling with how to unscrew their clogs) and zero being the ultimate, signifying everything in the Dingle universe.

And that's basically the crux of the matter. Hence, taking 30 or 40 thousand to Chelsea midweek is no different to our reporting of attendances of 8,000 down at Ewood in the '70s. The only difference lies in the stark contrast between delusion and resignation.

And, of course, let's not forget the significance of the zero factor. For it is this that accounts for the frequent reports of "infinite multitudes of Clarrots welling up from the earth and declaring the glory of their being".

Well... Dingle digits? Believe what you will.

The Dingles certainly do.

-- weny

Note: This is a work of fiction. Honest. And Burnley FC do not have any unpaid bills that the author is aware of.

[yoda]

Flamin' brilliant! Just when you thought you'd heard it all, the Dingles out-dingle you, smashing every preconception you had about sentient life on earth. Better than smashing up every conceivable thing in town, I suppose, though.

Like many on here, I couldn't work out why Owen Coyle had succumbed to Dingleology. Then it started to dawn on me. Owen as a first name? Coyle - that sounds strangely familiar. Coil. Coitus. Soil. Boil. Zit. Foil. Cheat. Toil. Tolstoy. Doil... Doil? Crikey, that's it! Doyle! Owen Coyle is nothing but a fictional (and crass) creation of the warped Dingle mind: an attempt at a spoonerism, a play on a rhyme, a simple replacement of letters. Indeed, surely they'll be calling him Sir Owen Coyle if they go up. Owen Coyle is but the embodiment of a fictional character from a golden era a century ago when the Dingles were actually any good...

**********************

Sir Owen Coyle, master mind, and the Digital Dingles

Deep in the bowels of The Turf in a secret hole barely big enough for a Mini Cooper, the masterful mind that had masterminded the Dingles' crawl into the play-offs spoke to the countless multitude of Dingles that had gathered to hear His Master's Voice. Between puffs on his pipe - that conjured up the suspicion of Woodbines - he addressed the assembly in hushed tones.

"It's quite elementary, dear Dingles. Since we have defeated the most attractive football-playing team in the whole of this Championship land - outside of ourselves, of course - and since it is quite evident that our opponents, worthy opponents as they unquestionably are, I might add, are greatly inferior at their home ground in Reading town, a place in the final at Wembley is already assured."

A great, deafening roar rang out and the multitude of Dingles went delirious. The master was less happy with this and was also concerned that local residents might mistake the tumultuous noise for gas pipe problems or, even worse, sewage problems. The last thing the club would want was a visit from the Water Board - the unpaid bills was one thing, but having the Water Board inspectors round to discover the old Longside toilet facilities was another thing. If they could just hang on until they could get their hands on the Sky money, they'd be able to install a proper sewage system and all their problems would be flushed away for ever.

The multitude calmed down and he was able to continue: "And since our opponents at Wembley will surely be the cloggers from Sheffield city, we have little to fear as we have already shown ourselves to be superior in sporting execution as well as in moral rectitude."

"So, you mean..."

"Yes, you are right. We are already among the elite in the Premiership land."

"Unless, of course..."

"Yes, unless, of course, the dastardly FA intervene and conspire against us."

"You mean..."

"Yes, that's right. As we speak, word is out in a Yard in Nelson that a dastardly plot is afoot at the FA."

"Oh, my goodness, you mean they're going to plough the pitch at Wembley."

"Yes, I understand so. But not to fear - it shan't make too much difference, dear Dingles, because we shall counteract this in the only way we can..."

"You mean... Surely not...?"

"Yes, you have excelled yourselves yet again in your application of logic, dear Dingles. We're going to have to take even more fans to Wembley..."

**********************

Well, do you think we're being a bit harsh on our close neighbours from Dingledom regarding their reporting of numbers? Harsh, but not harsh enough, of course. (And, I might add, close neighbours as in distance rather than evolutionary terms.)

Anyway, I've been trying to work out some reasonable, yet somehow convoluted, explanation of the matter befitting our neighbours' logic. And I think I may have worked it out. Bear with me...

You see, we rational beings from the bright side of the M65 base our logic on a binary system that allows us to understand the most complex of problems and issues. For example: we hate Man United; more specifically we hate United fans and we hate RFW. This in itself is perfectly rational. And we can quantify this loathing. We show our feelings to the United fans. How many hands did we use? Two. Therefore, by simple application of logic it follows that the answer is four. Two hands; two fingers per hand; four fingers total. Easy.

But what happens if you're not sure how many fingers you stuck up? Or you're not even sure how many fingers you've got on each hand? Or what if it's your digits on your feet that you are sticking up as you swing from the rafters of the Longside (or Darwen End, anyone...)? It's an infinitely more complex matter because the Dingles came to base their system of logic not on a binary but on a digital system. Or, more accurately, a digit system.

Consider the science here. As we know, not all Dingles have the same number of digits on their hands, not to mention their feet. So, we're not talking decimal or even hexidecimal here - we're talking mindboggling indices with variables built in. We're talking crap. Absolute and utter crap.

So, down at Ewood we have always worked out the size of the crowd in a rational fashion - even during the lean years of the 1970s. Consider this likely conversation on the terraces from the mid '70s:

"What d'ya reckon's on today, 10 thousand?"

"Aye, maybe more. Two extra turnstiles on, y' know."

"12 thousand?"

"Aye, about that."

"So it'll be the usual, then?"

"Aye, expect so."

And so it was that the official attendance was always 8,000 week in, week out, and it was accepted as the way of the world. An established, rational order.

Yet in the fabled land of Dingledom, they are entrapped by a digital system as impenetrable as a Frank Sinclair-marshalled defence and as incomprehensible as Ralph Coates' comb-over job.

Here's how it goes. It starts off with a rough estimate of just how many digits they reckon are on the ground. Don't forget all the variables involved. Then they have to divide this number by the number of digits they reckon everyone has. Remember all the variables involved now. But it's so bleedin' complicated that they have to employ a method of rationalising the process known as blustering (or BS). Basically they choose a random number between 10 and zero - 10 being an idealised number (it would be 20 but they're struggling with how to unscrew their clogs) and zero being the ultimate, signifying everything in the Dingle universe.

And that's basically the crux of the matter. Hence, taking 30 or 40 thousand to Chelsea midweek is no different to our reporting of attendances of 8,000 down at Ewood in the '70s. The only difference lies in the stark contrast between delusion and resignation.

And, of course, let's not forget the significance of the zero factor. For it is this that accounts for the frequent reports of "infinite multitudes of Clarrots welling up from the earth and declaring the glory of their being".

Well... Dingle digits? Believe what you will.

The Dingles certainly do.

-- weny

Note: This is a work of fiction. Honest. And Burnley FC do not have any unpaid bills that the author is aware of.

golden era a century ago when the dingles were any good! don't think so

try sitting in the corner with vinjay until the medication starts to work

[SamDingle]

Wen Y Hu lives with his parents, wears a lot of black and knows the name of every minor character in the Star Wars films.

[yoda]

Wen Y Hu lives with his parents, wears a lot of black and knows the name of every minor character in the Star Wars films.

feel the force dingle! the dark side always fails in the end

[SIMON GARNERS 194]

Wen Y Hu lives with his parents, wears a lot of black and knows the name of every minor character in the Star Wars films.

Good for him!

While over in the enclaves of Burnley every Burnley fan is married to his sister has six fingers on each hand and has a lust for smashing his own town centre up when losing to the mighty b'stards!!

***This statement though is known to be universally true and accepted***

[Lurid Coat]

Deep in the bowels of The Turf in a secret hole barely big enough for a Mini Cooper (.....)

Funniest thing I've read in ages, amazing work.

I'm actually hoping that Burnley reach the final, and have their Premier League dreams crushed due to a fluke goal scored by an opposition player standing 20 yards offside in the 95th minute.

[yorkyclaret]

Funniest thing I've read in ages, amazing work.

I'm actually hoping that Burnley reach the final, and have their Premier League dreams crushed due to a fluke goal scored by an opposition player standing 20 yards offside in the 95th minute.

Got my ticket for Tuesday and a seat on Accy Clarets, just out of interest are the other Clarets on here going?