Best 3811 quotes in «football quotes» category

Century was an occasional thing in cricket, Sachin made it frequent.

Characters may lend the action a certain colouring, but it is what happens that comes first. To overlook this while watching a tragedy would be like treating a football game simply as the acts of a set of solitary individuals, or as chance for each of them to display 'personality'. The fact that some players behave as though this is precisely what football games are about should not distract us from this point.

CHRISTMAS EVE: There’s a fire blazing in the fireplace, food enough for five thousand, and a new TV as big as Wyoming tuned to a football game no one cares about.

Crystal Palace, Man City and West Ham bring good support. They never stop singing. As do teams like Leicester, Cardiff and (although I hate to admit it) QPR. I can’t stand West Brom, but at least they come in fine voice. But it would be fair to say that the Arsenal support is atrocious

Der Randsport ist gemessen am Massensport ein schweres Brot. Und wenn der Markt die Leistung einer Randsportart faktisch ignoriert, nichts davon wissen will, welche Qualen Kunstturnerinnen etwa leiden, lässt das aufhorchen, gibt das noch jedem Ökonomen der Welt zu denken.

Die ausgetretenen Pfade verlässt bloß, wer Randsportarten aufwertet, ohne dabei den Massensportarten Abtrag zu tun und sie unbotmäßig in Misskredit zu bringen.

ESPN, is having the ability to foretell future outcomes in sports.

Coaches must take calculated risks all the time. One thing is to talk about what you plan to do and another is to prepare and then execute a plan toward change.

Coaching is like riding a roller coaster with many ups and downs. The true test is weathering the storm. The average length of time anywhere in America that a man is a head high school football coach is three years.

Critics of soccer contend that the game inherently culminates in death and destruction. They argue that the game gives life to tribal identities which should be disappearing in a world where a European Union and globalization are happily shredding such ancient sentiments. Another similar widely spread thesis that holds that the root cause of violence can be found in the pace of the game itself. Because goals come so irregularly, fans spend far too much time sublimating their emotions, anticipating but never releasing. When those emotions swell and become uncontainable, the fans erupt into dark, Dionysian fits of ecstatic violence.

De La Salle hung on for the 28-21 victory. Afterward, Ladouceur stood before his exhausted team. It was by far the biggest victory in school history at the time, but the coach noticed that several of his players wore masks of disappointment. "It's OK to feel disappointed if you didn't play your absolute best," he told them. "That's what we're all about.

Dialogue in the works of autobiography is quite naturally viewed with some suspicion. How on earth can the writer remember verbatim conversations that happened fifteen, twenty, fifty years ago? But 'Are you playing, Bob?' is one of only four sentences I have ever uttered to any Arsenal player (for the record the others are 'How's the leg, Bob?' to Bob Wilson, recovering from injury the following season; 'Can I have your autograph, please?' to Charlie George, Pat Rice, Alan Ball and Bertie Mee; and, well, 'How's the leg, Brian?' to Brian Marwood outside the Arsenal club shop when I was old enough to know better) and I can therefore vouch for its absolute authenticity.

Don’t you want to get well? Come on, Portia, this won’t be forever, mate: Dad’s confident, everyone’s behind you. Remember,’ I gave her an encouraging punch on the arm, ‘you’ll never walk alone, even if you are an Evertonian.’ She burst into floods of tears. ‘You mean I’ll never walk again!

Even if you are having a nightmare day during which nothing will go right, never cease looking for the ball. In the end everything will come right, for football is a game that rewards those who show courage.

Every time our great Country has been critically challenged either by dictators or terrorists, we as a Country have put aside our personal agendas and focused on doing what we need to do to win when threatened.

Explaining the myriad delights of a football Saturday in the South to anyone who has not enjoyed them may be impossible – like trying to describe the ocean to a blind man.

Fitchett smiled to himself. He loved this bit, when it’s about to kick off. Half terror, half ecstasy. The adrenaline surging through him like an electric current. His breathing coming in short gasps and his stomach trying to push its way up through his throat. ‘The Buzz’ they called it. And they were right. Fitchett was buzzing, this was what it was all about for him. This blast of magic.

Football said,"Why I am not a cricket ball to get a shot from Sachin".

Football teams that lost their matches can have many other chances to play in successive seasons; but a soul that is lost through death may not have the chance to justify its potential again!

Football Coaches do play football matches; their attitudes toward the game in times of tendencies of losing can cause a change in the scores of the games they monitor and mentor!

[Football] has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence: in other words it is war minus the shooting.

Football is an art players paint with their feet.

Football is the poetry of a motion.

Football’s power to unite can be stronger than its ability to divide though. For the people of Ağdam: as long as there’s football, there’s hope.

Football becomes rather insignificant in the face of the viciousness of conflict and there are many in Azerbaijan who has suffered a far worse fate than those involved with Qarabag. But bearing the Karabakh horses on their chests, Qarabag players are the voice of a displaced refugees, and this the tale of a team that just wouldn’t give up.

Gareth Miller grabbed the beer first, then the hotdog, because if there’s one thing you don’t want to be caught dead without at these sorts of events it’s beer. The hotdog was strictly for show, a prop, a way of blending in. Burst of static in his right ear: “G-man, you read me? What’s yo’ twenty, dawg?” Gareth departed the concession stand, stopped, looked down at his hands, and tossed the hotdog into the first trash receptacle he saw. Raising his wrist to his mouth, he spoke into the cuff of his long-sleeved tee. “Concession stand, Section B. Over.” Allowing his hand to linger by his chin, he gingerly scratched his cheek as if he had meant to do it all along. The same voice: “Yo, I’m in position. Ready when you is.” Gareth cringed while crossing the wide concourse, checking both directions. The giant hallway was the main drag of a ghost town, its only residents a solitary custodian sweeping debris into a portable waste bin and the concession crew to his rear.

He'd never considered sweet and conservative to be so hot, but damn, Emma wore it well.

He looks at me, the circle, then me again. “It’s really you, right? I didn’t create some simulacrum that was inhabited by a demon? Prove it’s you. Say something only Spencer would say.” “Like what?” “Say something annoying.” I think about it. “Well, you claim to be British, there’s really only one thing I can think of.” “That being?” I lean in close, my lips gently brushing his ear. “Soccer.” He shoves me away. “Fuck. You. It’s foot… Yeah, it’s you.

He hadn't developed into the accomplished running quarterback many had predicted he would become over the course of the season. But he had come to personify this team. He was raw and untested when the season began, but he played his two best games in the two biggest games on the schedule. He wasn't the player anybody expected him to be, but he got the job done-at times spectacularly.

He once told me, Instead of scoring thirty goals a season, why don't you score twenty-five and help someone else to score fifteen? That way the team's ten goals better off.

If I'd been born ugly, you'd never have heard of Pelé.

He wants to play major college football at a university far away, where nobody will know about his tragic family history. Then he wants to play in the NFL. Every catch brings him closer to that reality. That's how he thinks of it, anyway. Every time he runs downfield, sees the ball in the air, and hears the defensive back laboring to catch up, whenever he feels that ball fall out of the sky and into his waiting hands, he inches closer to his goals.

How responsible are you with what you are given? Are you the per- son who, when asked to do a job, can be counted on to get it done and get it done right? Don’t settle for just a field goal in life. Make the push for the last six inches and score a touchdown. Faithfulness, hard work, and dedication will gain the trust of others and take you further down the field.

I crawled back to bed, knowing I was done for. Hours later, the phone in our room started ringing. It was George. He was not happy. "Room 312. Now!" he shouted. Bouldy got up. I tried to pull myself together, splashing my face with water and hauling on my shorts and flip flops. It was a lovely day outside, the sun was scorching hot and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, but it might as well have been a pissing wet morning in St Albans for all I cared. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach as we made the Walk of Death to Room 312, which I knew was Paul and Gus's room. When we walked in, I thought I'd arrived in downtown Baghdad. Water dripped from the ceiling. The board games were in pieces and all the plastic parts were scattered over the floor. The balcony window was wide open and I could see a bed upended by the pool outside.

If he could do one thing, he could run. He had spent his life running, secrets spitting at his back.

If I’m not mistaken, he’s bragging about his accuracy and prowess—” A bark of male laughter came through the phone’s earpiece and Piper finished on a squeak, “In his sport.” “Nice clarification, sweetheart, but it ain’t bragging when it’s the truth.

If one part of a country is watching football match while the other part of the same country is under heavy attacks by the rockets, then we can say that there is no nation in that country, but there is only crowd of people!

If we had played Poly a hundred more times that year we wouldn't have beaten them again. On that night we found a way. It was an unbelievable thing. It was a marvelous, miraculous win." -Coach Frank Allocco

If Shankly was the Anfield foreman, Paisley was the brickie, ready to build an empire with his own hands.

If teams keep playing us this way, it's going to be like this

If you are not a part of the solution then you must be part of the problem. I am done with problems here!

If you're ashamed to stand by your colours, you better seek for another flag.

I love you more than Christiano Ronaldo's fans...!!!

If you see adversity arriving at your game field, time to put on your pads and let see how well you can tackle adversity.

If you want to strike, strike now. No matter how skillfully a footballer strikes beyond the 90 minutes' regulated time, he makes no influence. Strike now before it becomes too late!

• I have experienced the youth of Generation X, Y and currently Z. Teenage boys have changed in many ways over the years. Yet still they are quite similar to the boys I first coached in 1980 at a high school in Ohio.

*I love climbing mountains in all fields (Whatever was this fields). *I love tranquility and it is more for me precious than money. *Honesty is a few valuable nowadays. after willing of God and Step by step with Concentration i will achieve What I want to.

I love football. I love the aesthetics of football. I love the athleticism of football. I love the movement of the players, the antics of the coaches. I love the dynamism of the fans. I love their passion for their badge and the colour of their team and their country. I love the noise and the buzz and the electricity in the stadium. I love the songs. I love the way the ball moves and then it flows and the way a teams fortune rises and falls through a game and through a season. But what I love about football is that it brings people together across religious divides, geographic divides, political divides. I love the fact that for ninety minutes in a rectangular piece of grass, people can forget hopefully, whatever might be going on in their life, and rejoice in this communal celebration of humanity. The biggest diverse, invasive or pervasive culture that human kinds knows is football and I love the fact that at the altar of football human kind can come worship and celebrate.

I’m going to kiss you.” Another whimper, but she didn’t jerk from his hold. “I know, and that’s an extremely bad idea.

I'm very curious why people in school all the time from 2-3 class up to the last 6-7 they talk about football. What can be said?? Sharing about a team few sentences, who has won, and rought said that's all. But why people stretch it like a Turkish delight with the same end???