Deep throat
I have arrived at a turning point in my life. Yesterday. Motherwell FC, my team since I was a little lad, were condemned to a play-off to determine whether they are relegated from the Scottish Premier League, or whatever the bloody thing is called this week, a competition so charismatic that it can’t find any sponsor willing to have its name associated with it commercially. There is no realistic prospect that ‘Well will emerge victorious, regardless of the opposition. The club is going down, to what is called illogically the Championship, and who knows what lies in wait beyond that, maybe even relegation to the Highland League in the fullness of time.
For me the terrible thing is not that. It is not the prospect of weary journeys to Forfar or Falkirk, or even scenic Brora . . . not that I’d be going. No, it is this; after sixty-five years of loyalty, (this is a man who, aged seven, gave up the chance to see the now legendary Stanley Matthews FA Cup final on TV to stand on he terraces and watch Motherwell Reserves) I find today that I do not give a good Goddamn.
(No, I’m not going to explain the relevance of the title of this post: work it out.)
Quintin Jardine's blog 
I did see the Matthews final and have been a loyal supporter every since – a lot of good it has done me and the few thousand other loyal supporters this season!
As in put your finger down it and make yourself sick.
More obscure than that, Fergus.
Well, in that case, how about Watergate, “All the president’s men,’ I think? Way off again maybe and I still don’t get it but I’ll sleêp on it. How can Motherwell get to be in the Highland League? It’s all flat round there. Cryptic…