Gary Speed

[Nev]

So of the posts on this thread are disgusting.

[M H]

Care to expand Nev?

[Nev]

The 'jokes' are outrageous.

[Sprocket501]

Who's this cunt?

[Knots & crosses]

Nowt wrong with gallows humour.

[M H]

Who's this cunt?

Ha ha, was waiting for that

[Dartfrog]

Bobby Fischer docu on BBC4 9pm tonight Sprocket.

[M H]

The 'jokes' are outrageous.

I've seen far worse that weren't even jokes.

Jokes happen and the first I remember of that nature was "What was Marc Bolan's last hit?"

[Dartfrog]

Ride a White Swan?

[Randall]

one of my faves was what does diana stand for?

died in a nasty accident.

[welsh]

Wrap a yellow mini round that old oak tree

[M H]

Ride a White Swan?

The dashboard!

Ha ha Randall, hadn't heard that one

[Randall]

from 1986 or whenever it was i liked what does nasa stand for.

need another seven astronauts.

[Dartfrog]

I don't see that in his discography.

[M H]

I don't see that in his discography.

Stop being so fucking serious

[Justin Credible]

The 'jokes' are outrageous.

wait til you get to DF

[Knots & crosses]

I don't see that in his discography.

Stop being so fucking serious

if he doesn't have a t-shirt, it doesn't count.

[Justin Credible]

An extract from Craig Bellamy's book. On Gary Speed's death...

Throughout my career, I looked up to Speedo and I always took it as a great compliment that he, in turn, looked out for me and valued me as a player. Long before he died, at 42, he had become one of my best friends.
He was a mentor to me, someone whose advice I sought, someone I listened to. I was a little in awe of him, too, and I certainly knew not to cross him. I knew he rarely lost his temper but if he did, it was best to make sure you were nowhere in his vicinity.

I was delighted when he took the Wales job in December 2010 and by the summer of 2011 there was a real feeling he had started to turn things around. Our training camps had become a joy to be involved in. They were so professional. Before, under John Toshack, it had felt more amateur when you joined up with Wales. Now it felt like you were with a Premier League club.

We were not just winning games, we were holding the ball and dominating possession and I could sense Speedo’s pride. He was becoming a manager.

The next game was a friendly against Norway in Cardiff at the beginning of November. Speedo was quiet. I had a coffee with him down at the St David’s Bay Hotel and I noticed he had a bit of a beard, which was unusual for him. I was having a bad time in my marriage and we spoke about my situation.

We talked about his life, too. His quietness during that week disconcerted me a little bit but I put it down to the fact he was becoming a manager. I thought maybe it was just that he was putting a bit of distance between himself and the players.

We beat Norway. In fact, we battered them. Speedo was normal after the game. He seemed proud of the performance and pleased with the way things were going. I had my own personal issues, so the game was a great relief for me. I had a quick chat and a bit of a laugh with him and then I headed off.

I didn’t speak to him for the next couple of weeks. At the end of November, Liverpool had a big game against Manchester City at Anfield. It was the Sky Sunday game.

On the Saturday night, I took a sleeping tablet like I do the night before every match to make sure I sleep through.
It was a 4pm kick-off so I had a bit of a lie-in. When I got up, I looked at my phone. I had several missed calls.
Two were from Kieron Dyer and one was from my adviser. These were people who never called me on the day of a game.
When Kieron rang for the third or fourth time, I answered. ‘Have you heard about Speedo?’ he said.

‘What?’ I said.
‘Shay Given’s rung our agent to say Speedo’s committed suicide,’ said Kieron.
‘F*** off,’ I said. ‘No chance.’ ‘I’ve heard he’s hung himself,’ said Kieron.

I got in my car to drive to Anfield. Then my adviser called me. He was ringing with the same news.

He said Speedo had committed suicide. I still didn’t believe it. I couldn’t see it. Not with Speedo. I rang Shay Given.

‘It’s true, mate,’ said Shay.

I rang someone at the Welsh FA. They didn’t know anything. I rang Suzanne who worked as a PA for both me and Speedo. I asked her if she had heard anything.

‘No, nothing,’ she said.

I asked her to find out. I was starting to freak out. I rang Speedo’s phone then. It started ringing. ‘He’s alive,’ I thought. ‘He’s alive. Thank f*** for that.’

Stupid, wasn’t it. A dead man’s phone can ring, too.

Suzanne rang back. She was hysterical. She told me it was true.

I couldn’t comprehend it. Speedo was my idol in football. He was everything I tried to become. I spoke to him pretty much once a week for the last 10 years. Then the tears started to fall. I knew it was real then. I just broke down.
I didn’t sleep that night. I was thinking about his kids. He adored his kids. I couldn’t believe he had left them. And you know what, I felt angry with him, too. I adored him and looked up to him and had the highest respect for him. And now he was dead and I felt angry with him. I felt angry with him for leaving. I felt angry with him for leaving like this.

Some time later, at the inquest into his death, his widow, Louise, described him as ‘a glass half-empty man’ and she was right about that. He got down easily.

I was determined to play against Chelsea on the Tuesday. I had to play. I needed to do something to try to escape what had happened.

There was a minute’s applause for Speedo before the Chelsea game. I stood in the line with the rest of the Liverpool players. I felt OK. Then the Liverpool fans started singing his name. It was real to me then. That was when I started crying.

The Chelsea supporters didn’t sing his name, but I don’t expect that from them. They’re not the type of fans I’d want to play for.

‘I’m going to play f****** well tonight,’ I thought. Chelsea couldn’t get near me that night.

It was one of the best games I have ever played. We won 2-0 and I set up both goals. Kenny Dalglish took me off 10 minutes from the end and gave me the biggest hug when I got to the touchline, which is typical of him.

Then I sat on the bench, put a coat over my head and cried.

[Sprocket501]

Quality dig at Chelsea's 'fans'.

[Justin Credible]

no doubt this will also curry favor with the scouse fans who probably rob the book.