Tottenham Hotspur vs Liverpool - Champions League Final 2019

[Kenneth]

Just watched the highlights and the lifting of the cup, did anyone spot Naby to the right of Hendo? I'm happy he made it to Madrid

The half kit ******

[Buzzo]

[ame]https://twitter.com/anfieldhq/status/1135288948522135552[/ame]

[Rigadon]

And at Harry Kane's long pensive stare at the heavens above as he contemplates the real meaning of disappointment and then wonders whether another quantum universe has been created, where a Harry Kane exists that is about to win the European Cup, only to feel more despondent at the realisation that even if so, there is no coherent theoretical model that suggests the possibility of interacting with other universes in the multiverse

[Fosterbloke]

Having watched it back, it was a bull**** penalty really, it hit his chest first then bounced on to his arm.

How many speculative kicks to the upper body will happen thanks to this ridiculous rule?

[Buzzo]

**** that it was definitely a pen.

Shouldn’t have his hands in the air pointing like a loon in the first 20 seconds.

Every single ex player pundit (except Goddle) or ref questioned has said its a pen.

[baitman]

Having watched it back, it was a bull**** penalty really, it hit his chest first then bounced on to his arm.

How many speculative kicks to the upper body will happen thanks to this ridiculous rule?

The rule has already been changed. https://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/football/48382254

The law remains that deliberate handball is an offence. But accidental handball will also be a free-kick if...

the ball goes into the goal off an attacker
a player gets the ball using his arm or hand and then scores, or creates a goalscoring opportunity
a player's hand or arm has made their body "unnaturally bigger"
the player's arm or hand is above their shoulder (unless the player has controlled the ball onto his own arm or hand)

But a handball will not be a free-kick if...
the ball is knocked on to a hand by the player in question or a nearby player
the arm or hand is close to their body and "has not made their body unnaturally bigger"
if a player is falling and the ball touches their hand or arm when it is between their body and the ground to support the body - but not extended to make the body bigger

Another change to the handball rule relates to the goalkeeper.

If the goalkeeper attempts to clear ("release into play") a throw-in or backpass and their clearance fails, then they can handle the ball.

Ifab says this is because "when the goalkeeper clearly kicks or tries to kick the ball into play, this shows no intention to handle the ball".

[Fosterbloke]

[Fosterbloke]

**** that it was definitely a pen.

Shouldn’t have his hands in the air pointing like a loon in the first 20 seconds.

Every single ex player pundit (except Goddle) or ref questioned has said its a pen.

Update: I just watched it again and it's totally different to how it was in my mind!

100% pelanty.

[BobTheCharmer]

Being in Liverpool on Saturday for the game was one of the best days of my entire life, all 43 long years of it.

Our bar over looking concert square was perfect. But just to reach the venue we had run the gauntlet, fighting our way through the flares and hoardes of fans, singing, the empty drinks vessels littering the floor making every step a potential hazard and every box of beer another hurdle to survive. That was about 3.00pm. Inside the German bar, the pre booked table was a life saver. Drinks delivered direct to the table saving the enormous task of fighting your way to the bar. Tv's from wall to wall. Inside it was boiling, sweaty, hot, the open windows sucking in the remnants of another burnt out flare. Our vantage point was superb. It was all going off.

When the inevitable point came when a visit to the gents was required, a 40 minute queue threatened to dampen the spirits, with my bladder fit to burst, the songs managed to hold the valves a little longer, any chance of piss fright dispersed the moment the zip came down, the release, the relief, the pleasure was immense despite standing in 2 inches of the wet stuff. Then to almost be crowd surfed out to allow the room for the next hero to feel that relief was something that will live long in the memory.

As the bar filled up, the excitement built, the nerves jangling, the songs kept coming. Another look out the window another flare lit, another cheer another flare. As kick off approached the fervour inside and out was unbelievable. The air was full of positivity, we're going to win this. A loud cheer to my left, a group of lads peering upwards, laughing, clapping, I jump across and have a look, a couple of lasses in a building opposite were taking great delight in exposing their ample breasts for us all to enjoy. Not once, not twice but three times.

As the game was about to start the excitement was palpable. When Mane won the pen the cheers were huge, I'm then thinking **** no Milner! I was convinced Mo would miss, up he stepped and the manic bedlam that ensued once his shot hit the net was unreal. How I wish you could bottle that for later use. It's like a good drink you've discovered, you want more and you want it time and again. I watched the majority of the game through nervous fingers, praying we held on when it seemed we were inviting more and more pressure. When Divock scored the second, our tops came off exposing the whitest palest of men to the world at large, swinging the yellow 1982 replica high above my head, being hugged to within an inch of my life by a giant of an Irishmen, squeezing every last zap of air from my lungs. My head pounding louder than the hands fist pumping the walls and tables of the bar. We've gone and won the European Cup! Champions, heroes, gladiators each and every one. What a ****ing night. What a night.

[baitman]

[Fosterbloke]

Being in Liverpool on Saturday for the game was one of the best days of my entire life, all 43 long years of it.

Our bar over looking concert square was perfect. But just to reach the venue we had run the gauntlet, fighting our way through the flares and hoardes of fans, singing, the empty drinks vessels littering the floor making every step a potential hazard and every box of beer another hurdle to survive. That was about 3.00pm. Inside the German bar, the pre booked table was a life saver. Drinks delivered direct to the table saving the enormous task of fighting your way to the bar. Tv's from wall to wall. Inside it was boiling, sweaty, hot, the open windows sucking in the remnants of another burnt out flare. Our vantage point was superb. It was all going off.

When the inevitable point came when a visit to the gents was required, a 40 minute queue threatened to dampen the spirits, with my bladder fit to burst, the songs managed to hold the valves a little longer, any chance of piss fright dispersed the moment the zip came down, the release, the relief, the pleasure was immense despite standing in 2 inches of the wet stuff. Then to almost be crowd surfed out to allow the room for the next hero to feel that relief was something that will live long in the memory.

As the bar filled up, the excitement built, the nerves jangling, the songs kept coming. Another look out the window another flare lit, another cheer another flare. As kick off approached the fervour inside and out was unbelievable. The air was full of positivity, we're going to win this. A loud cheer to my left, a group of lads peering upwards, laughing, clapping, I jump across and have a look, a couple of lasses in a building opposite were taking great delight in exposing their ample breasts for us all to enjoy. Not once, not twice but three times.

As the game was about to start the excitement was palpable. When Mane won the pen the cheers were huge, I'm then thinking **** no Milner! I was convinced Mo would miss, up he stepped and the manic bedlam that ensued once his shot hit the net was unreal. How I wish you could bottle that for later use. It's like a good drink you've discovered, you want more and you want it time and again. I watched the majority of the game through nervous fingers, praying we held on when it seemed we were inviting more and more pressure. When Divock scored the second, our tops came off exposing the whitest palest of men to the world at large, swinging the yellow 1982 replica high above my head, being hugged to within an inch of my life by a giant of an Irishmen, squeezing every last zap of air from my lungs. My head pounding louder than the hands fist pumping the walls and tables of the bar. We've gone and won the European Cup! Champions, heroes, gladiators each and every one. What a ****ing night. What a night.

Bloody hell, you took me there Bob, I was there!

[frank the tank]

Great post Bob.

[Alex]

Still hungover

[Irishnev]

My mum does run an air bnb right in the centre of town though.

let’s see what the dates are like and I may well come over

[Irishnev]

Being in Liverpool on Saturday for the game was one of the best days of my entire life, all 43 long years of it.

Our bar over looking concert square was perfect. But just to reach the venue we had run the gauntlet, fighting our way through the flares and hoardes of fans, singing, the empty drinks vessels littering the floor making every step a potential hazard and every box of beer another hurdle to survive. That was about 3.00pm. Inside the German bar, the pre booked table was a life saver. Drinks delivered direct to the table saving the enormous task of fighting your way to the bar. Tv's from wall to wall. Inside it was boiling, sweaty, hot, the open windows sucking in the remnants of another burnt out flare. Our vantage point was superb. It was all going off.

When the inevitable point came when a visit to the gents was required, a 40 minute queue threatened to dampen the spirits, with my bladder fit to burst, the songs managed to hold the valves a little longer, any chance of piss fright dispersed the moment the zip came down, the release, the relief, the pleasure was immense despite standing in 2 inches of the wet stuff. Then to almost be crowd surfed out to allow the room for the next hero to feel that relief was something that will live long in the memory.

As the bar filled up, the excitement built, the nerves jangling, the songs kept coming. Another look out the window another flare lit, another cheer another flare. As kick off approached the fervour inside and out was unbelievable. The air was full of positivity, we're going to win this. A loud cheer to my left, a group of lads peering upwards, laughing, clapping, I jump across and have a look, a couple of lasses in a building opposite were taking great delight in exposing their ample breasts for us all to enjoy. Not once, not twice but three times.

As the game was about to start the excitement was palpable. When Mane won the pen the cheers were huge, I'm then thinking **** no Milner! I was convinced Mo would miss, up he stepped and the manic bedlam that ensued once his shot hit the net was unreal. How I wish you could bottle that for later use. It's like a good drink you've discovered, you want more and you want it time and again. I watched the majority of the game through nervous fingers, praying we held on when it seemed we were inviting more and more pressure. When Divock scored the second, our tops came off exposing the whitest palest of men to the world at large, swinging the yellow 1982 replica high above my head, being hugged to within an inch of my life by a giant of an Irishmen, squeezing every last zap of air from my lungs. My head pounding louder than the hands fist pumping the walls and tables of the bar. We've gone and won the European Cup! Champions, heroes, gladiators each and every one. What a ****ing night. What a night.

I suspect it was Dan Perkins