The Fat Spencer's Gym

A conclusion to the six years.
I contemplate to win, to crush, to slay. Why then, the slayed rises to their feet again, and like a crackbrained mob, and never intended to bow down to me? I always thought god has forsaken me, for i never been a laborious freak on the pitch. Consequently, I dispose more and more effort into it. I spend days in the gym as though i am having copulation with the weights.

In the end, it's all about desolation, despondency and shit. You gaze upon the sky, and you see the clouds forming two words, fcuk you. If you prick up your ears, it's all jubilance chanting from the opposition. How does that feels? A noncomformist?

I now realise the bonding can bring you miles further. One makes the difference, but all makes a miracle. To hunt like a horde of rapacious wolves and tear them apart with you people was an honour. As your helmsman, i have done my best, and probably not.

I dont give a fcuk now.
The rugby ball isnt customized for me.
Six years of torment is enough, and what a hell streak it is.
Dont say losing is part and parcel, it already has decimated my heart.

I did not weep a tear today, because my tears have welled up. But i grieved, for the fact that it seems like today's loss is apparent to losing all pretentions in life. Worse than someone stabs you in the back. It's my team, for heaven sake, not some wussy pussy's. Tears dont bring me far, it just portrays the enfeebled side of me. Perhaps I do have.

Enough.
The rugby ball have eloped with catholic junior college.
I have no love, no sex or whatever.
My life is back to square one.
I love you people for embracing me when times are hard.
I shall fill in others with my experience and ideologies.
But fcuk, I broke up with the rugby ball and it's all over.
We will not patch up.
The love is tattered and torn.
Trickling with rich blood.
Like all lovers say," She will be only living in my memories, but never in my life again".
Thank you all.
May the lord be with you.
Goodbye.