Police have today admitted that George Best was not in fact buried in
Belfast last week and that in retrospect the decision to cremate him in
Hemel Hempstead on Sunday morning might have been a mistake.
Wouldn’t take much to cremate him, would it? Alcohol burns pretty good, just light a nipple and the rest would go.
That’s nice, making fun of a recently deceased, deeply troubled artist that a lot of people will remember fondly for the rest of their lives. Real nice. Reminds me of all the hilarious Rosa Parks jokes not so long ago. Good times.
Rosa didn’t drink herself into an early grave. I’m still angry that Best took the gift of a liver, one that could have gone to save the life of many other people on the waiting list, and began drinking again.
For those who’ve missed it, Hemel Hempstead is where the Buncefield fuel depot exploded.
Echo what NurseCarmen said. Not much more to add.
Aha! So I’m not the only sick bastard around here! WooHoo!
Ignoring the issue of how many people share the average donated liver, I can’t see why one would be angry at poor George for succumbing to his weakness again rather than the doctors who decided he should get the liver. To be honest, I’m not terribly upset and I probably wouldn’t care at all if it wasn’t George Best… just trying this indignation thing out–I think egomania suits me better. Just you guys be careful when Maradona kicks it now, y’hear?
Hell, I got pissed at The Mick when he christened his new liver with a bunch of booze, AND he had frigging cancer when they did the transplant! Total waste of a good liver…
No offence to famous people, but that guy should never have gotten a transplant. The cancer should have excluded him, or at least put him down the list. But hey, he’s Mickey Mantle- hand that guy an organ! :rolleyes:
I’m reminded of the story of a doctor who would only perform extensive surgery on a patient’s hands if the patient promised to give up smoking because smoking would negate the positive effects of the surgery. The patient promised and quit smoking…for about two weeks. He was back in surgery–with the same doctor–within a month to have his fingers amputated.
Artist? ARTIST!?. He was a bloody footballer. Football is **NOT ** an art. It’s a sport.
*I once naively asked whether there was any therapy he might still try to kick the booze.
“I never wanted to stop,” he said. "And I’ve had enough of all these patronising so-and-so’s trying to tell me I’d have a better life without it. I don’t want to live without it. I’m no good without it.
“It’s only for other people, for Alex and for Calum, that I try.”
He was right. Sober he was unbearable: a shaking, self-pitying wreck. After a few glasses he was clever, charming, witty and poignantly optimistic.*
from this piece.
Have you ever noticed that “George Best” is an anagram of “Go gets beer?”
Funny that.
But don’t stop there, don’t ask…
“Very drunk, he became vicious and delusional, seeing himself as the beautiful young hero he once was, pushing me up against a wall and suggesting we sleep together.”
Romanticizing drunks kills alcoholics…
I have a feeling he was only unbearable because he was a white-knuckle dry drunk, wanting everyone to think he was a prick when sober so that they would be happy when he drank again…
Hehehh - I missed this post yesterday. Funny. 