Footy Rocks!: The 50 Best Rants and Dribbles from Football365's Controversial Columnist [Paperback]

Johnny is not your conventional football writer as thousands of his
addicted readers already know. Rude, crude and some say, off his nut, he's
always compelling and controversial.

Footy Rocks brings together 50 of his best columns from the last 5 years in
all their football, sex, drugs and rock n roll glory.

Booze, bodily functions, narcotics, the north, knickers, Middlesbrough,
Californication, guitars and Gary Neville; they're all here.

And amongst the madness are some serious rants about the state of the
modern game, the people who watch it and the people who play it.

You get 50 columns, all with brand new intros plus two major new previously
unpublished writings.

So crank up the music, get yourself a big drink, you're going to need it.
Heeeerrrrre's Johnny!

You can pick it up, read a couple of chapters and then go to sleep, get off
the bus or get off the toilet. Ideal.

Over nearly 6 years I've written well over 400 columns for football365.com
and these 50 are some of my favourites.

If you've never read me, I'm obssessed by football and rock n roll and
often draw comparisons between the two in what have been called whacked out
analogies that are full of swearing and references to all the rude things
that make life worth living.

I do some serious ranting too when things get my goat (my goat is called
Colin and he's got a hell of temper on him)

Basically, if you like football, sex, drugs and rock n roll you'll enjoy
reading this. Now, get the beers in eh.

Born in Hull 1961;

Grew up on Teesside in the 70's.

Fell in love with the rock they still call heavy.

Played over amplified guitar in a band of hairy mercenaries.

Supports Middlesbrough FC and enjoys alcohol in all it's glorious forms.

Has written for football365.com, the worlds biggest and most original
football website since 2001.

Now also writes for the Daily Record.

Lives in Edinburgh with his artist/designer partner Dawn and 7,000 albums.

Can usually be found lying on his massive sofa eating dry roast peanuts
while watching football.

Graeme Souness Made My Mate Gay.

This would be the tabloid headline if the story I’m about to tell you
happened this week and not 25 years ago.
Yes, Graeme Souness - a volcano wrapped in a full-length coat; his anger
always ready to erupt like molten lava over an Italian village. ‘Twas ever
thus.

Souness played for Boro from ‘73 to ‘78. I first saw him in 1974.
Throughout his playing career he was always liable to give you a good
kicking, but in his early days at the Boro under Big Jack Charlton, he was
simply vicious. If he could have worn boots with rotating razor blades he
would have jumped (two-footed) at the chance.
Souey didn’t just tackle firmly, he mowed ruthlessly into opponents,
savaging them and then emerging without a scratch.

But despite his ferocity, by mid-70’s standards he was always well turned
out. He was neat, he was tidy, he had a substantial moustache, a big disco
perm and he was lean and muscular.

In short, he looked very gay, though not for one moment did Souness - as a
man with an unblemished record of heterosexuality - think that himself.
However, Souey’s mixture of on-pitch violence and muscular good looks
awakened the latent homosexuality in one Teesside boy.
Frankie was a regular 70’s Teesside lad. He liked drinking Cameron’s beer,
wore Brutus fader jeans with huge 24" flares, listened to Cockney Rebel and
enjoyed going to Ayresome Park.

The ‘74 Second Division-winning side was a killer team and we all enjoyed
our football that season. I hadn’t noticed at the time that Frankie was
more passionate in his love of Souness than the rest of us and of course we
had no idea our hero looked like the sort of bloke you might meet in a San
Franciscan bath-house.

Remember, it was the 70’s, and none of us thought we even knew anyone who
wasn’t straight. Such things were a mystery to us. Somehow we had got the
idea, probably through watching Dick Emery that being gay involved mincing
around with a pink handbag and calling everyone ‘Ducky’.

We were very naive.

We thought doing it doggy style would involve the participation of a real
dog. We thought blow jobs involved actual blowing - "Wouldn’t it inflate
your balls?" I remember being told categorically that oral sex just meant
talking dirty.

If someone really had told us Cunnilingus was an Irish airline we would
have believed them.

Our only exposure to sex was Page Three in the Sun and hoping your mam and
dad were out when A Bouquet of Barbed Wire was on the TV. So we didn’t spot
the signs.

We didn’t see that Frankie wasn’t just a fan of Souness; he was actually in
love with him..............