L’evidence: It’s worth listening to this exchange between Lance, Saviour of the Universe (LANCE! HE’LL SAVE EVERYONE OF US!) and filthy lying Mick-faced Paddy drug cheat Paul Kimmage:

You’ll notice the scum bucket asking a reasonable question. You’ll notice our hero le cunt hiding first behind cancer, then every cancer sufferer in the world, and finally his as yet uncancered children, before prevaricating with his answer on the question of previous dopers. Armstrong used and one assumes still uses performance enhancing drugs. Six of his blood samples from the 1999 Tour tested positive for EPO. He has been part of an unquestionable Omerta in relation to drug use and is famous for his bullying tactics against those who speak out, going so far as to purposely hamper whistle-blower Filippo Simeoni’s  attempt at a Stage win during the 2004 Tour, despite there being no threat to his position in the race.

But this is all okay, because Lance is ‘raising awareness’ of cancer. He’s fighting this terrible disease. He’s linking to livestrong.com from his Twitter account. Not, surprisingly, livestrong.org, his charity website. But to livestrong.com  where every hit brings more shiny advertising sheckles to, one assumes, the ultimate Armstrong  presidential bid.  I’m already aware of cancer, Lance, I was aware of it as soon as it started picking off my loved ones when I was a kid, and when I karmically and comically contract it myself, most likely before you leave the country, I will fight no harder for life because some Skeletor faced, drug fueled hypocrite has been flogging yellow bracelets.

Le Verdict: While without doubt one of the most talented athletes of our time, Armstrong is also a clear favourite for title of Greatest American Sporting Le Cunt.

L’evidence : Speaking about Blackburn’s opening game of the new Premier League season, Dunn said of opponents Manchester City “It’s important we do our best and kick lumps out of them – fairly of course”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have no serious objection to anybody kicking lumps out of Craig Bellamy, Emmanuel Adebayor, Robinho or any of the other money-grasping, mercenery cuntsacks that City have assembled, but why qualify a statement like that?

How can you kick lumps out of somebody fairly? It’s like saying “I’m going to murder him in cold blood – fairly of course”, as if the so-called fairness somehow makes it all right.

If he had just said “We’re going to kick lumps out of them”, fine. Seeing chunks of Adebayor’s calf or Robinho’s hamstring strewn around the pitch would make the opening day of the season an absolute pleasure but kicking someone so great slabs of their own flesh are removed from their body is known, in football parlance, as a ‘foul’. And a foul by it’s very nature cannot be fair.

Le verdict: Dunn really needs to work on his understanding of the English language. Maybe he was just trying to convey the message that his team would provide a great physical challenge for the Premier League’s Arab playthings but instead he has just made himself look like a stupid, ignorant, Son of Sam Le Cunt.

L’evidence: Most of us may have assumed that the nadir of Ireland’s footballing history had been conclusively reached when we were being managed by a semi-literate mong spawned in Drogheda. It might be argued that this remains the case. However, last night’s 3-0 defeat to a bunch of cricket playing convicts most of whom should have been deeply confused by the mesmerising roundness of the object ball must re-open the lively ‘most humiliating moment in Irish footballing history’ debate. But the question remains, why? Why did our valiant British battlers fail to subdue the gormless Aussie assault?

And the answer is clear: Thomond fucking Park. Never has a footballing fixture been more away for an allegedly home team. Never has an away team been more at home. Thomond Park, which, considering its location, should really have been constructed as a Colloseum-esque amphitheatre in which the principle Limerick sport of stabbing the fuck out of people could have been rightly glorified, is instead the home of that most hideous of hybrids, rugby loving muck savages. 

More wrong than little people porn, the rugger bugger bogger combo has been soiling  our national consciousness for many a year now, and although the dedicated may have been able to bury their heads in the Lansdowne Road or somewhat sickeningly Croke Park sand, last night ended any hope of denial. Australia, the High Priests of the marriage between  bovine bumming and scrumming, bathed in the aura of this unholy alliance and easily subdued our doubtlessly nauseated heroes.

And at the risk of over-egging the le cunt evidence pudding I present this monstrosity, entitled ‘Welcome to the New Thomond Park’:

Le Verdict: Dubbed Thalidomide Park by the glitterati, a bastion of perversion, peopled by adherents of Dr Moreau and the sole reason for Ireland’s defeat to Australia, Thomond Park is truly stadium Le Cunt.

L’evidence:

Le verdict: Listen to him crying, he’s doing a terrible impression of Joe from Family Guy. He is quite clearly a mentalist footballing Le Cunt.