Code-free cheese ...

From the 60 decade to the same phase. Not once has the championship started without manners. No manners. Is there anything else you need to add to the observer's agreement that in Greece the championship is based on a permanent, traditional type, of chivalry?

Team bosses have a completely random relationship with the object. No business relationship as required. They messed with the ball to… help their team. But they do stun us. They spit football, they slander it. At every opportunity. Publicly and officially. And the leaflets, too, which do not treat football as an industrial product, as a spectacle, as a popular entertainer, but as a means to get out of their binoculars by supposedly crazy fans. These sick people in fact have no idea of ​​football, they don't care about the subject.

Two gentlemen play barbecue in the street. The blanket is spread on a sidewalk in the Stadium. Bar code without code. That is why the two cuts are constantly bickering. And their personal rivalry is being overshadowed by an audience of celebrity cheerleaders, supporters and journalists, while making sly politicians politicians.

Playing on an illegal barbecue is a respectable thing. Reliable. And it has a morality. Rules. Alas. It doesn't sound a mile too loud. Not a word. Only measured gauges, necessary for smooth rolling from one roll to another. The barbecue we used to say on the terrace, just a few meters from the corner lanterns, is a raft. The binoculars do not stop. And from those who catch the bones in their hands, and from the jaguars who stepped on the stage.

The championship will start, if it starts, and no one knows if it will end normally. If there are going to be postponements again, postponements, because the nasty minister has to do his part. And if one or two teams leave early. This is the grim situation. And to think that the big PAEs are in the hands of big businessmen who in any case maneuver, equally and behind the scenes, the country's public life.

So unreliable, so to speak, culturally, it is the local league. And the first chat with the eye, with the gambler's mind, is far from shit. How to bet on the whole thing? And yet! The unreliability of this championship has its… gambling edge. You step into the place of the grandfather. That is?

Here you priest, there priest, who is ... the priest, his victim asks the priest who has set up shop on the side of the road, always ready to pick them up and run away if a politician, who is not in the bay, unleashes them. You play with the prince. For sure. The craftsman is a fagot, for the day he goes, not the fat kidnapper. So do you. At the very least, the pocket money comes out of the Greek championship.