Tottenham Stadium Fight Night Experience: A Cocked-Up Circus of Human Tragedy!

I swear to God Shawar, if you ever want to see the fall of society in real-time, only go to the UK stadium.

Last night at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium? A pure human zoo. You think you are going to a big-time boxing event, but welcome to the greatest freezing of NO-Briten: You think you have bought you on Clarna Payment on a 900-dollar island jacket of Tony Montana.

First, can anyone explain why the UK’s knife is wearing a boxing fighter every time the Netflix Documentary Documentary of the Netflix Documentary? Significantly – fake tan, fake lash, fake designer bags and clothing so tightly you can see what they were practically for their lunch. Urine and nausea in the heels they cannot definitely enter the tip-toing around nausea. Is this a national tradition? “Oi Becky, we’re on the boxing, don’t forget your whore dress!”

Second, there is nothing to see literally. I was about 40 yards away from the ring, and what I got for my problem was a perfect view on the back of a pint of a pint around him as it was in Glastonbury. Punch couldn’t see. He couldn’t even say which Blob Yubank and which Ben was. Fighting on the other end of a car park can also be two standard. Seriously, a dozen of a crack iPad would have become more clear.

And the boys? Oh God Shobar, Boys. Each second guy was Kiran or a pen, he was experienced in a scene of the Green Street Gunda, out of his chest and dropped from the coke, looking for the excuse to headback someone on a splashing pint. Absolutely mashed, shaking around like wind-up toys, bin, stewards, trying to start fighting with each other, you name it. Each second word was “Brother” or “Bruv”, each third word was a shocking threat that was not perfect enough to back up anyone. The real bunch of the champions. Absolute weapon.

And then the girls again, sorry but the girls … Christ. I saw the crowds of better clothes outside of 3-Far-1 kebab shops at four in the morning I didn’t know who was a boxing event wearing their rejected profit Island extracts, but here we-wearing fake tan under the stadium lights, cutting the shoes with Massa, walking in the wallet (eurine and walked). No bribe could come down in his own image.

In fact, the environment was such that if you took a football away from a bunch of hooligans, they gave them a cheap coke worth $ 200 and told them that they were the main events. At one point I think a full-scale riot was almost kicked near the hot dog stand, and in fact, it was more entertaining than real fights … which I have never seen anything again. Zero Nada. The monster cranging and pretending on the monster, they knew what was happening, just a bunch of wounded heads.

Stadium fights have to be completed. This is a scandal. Drunk as a football hooligan of the decade of the decade, cocked-up clown you pay hundreds of money to see nothing and you go with the headache, a stained pair of instructor and serious need to revisit your life preferences.

Next time? I’m at home with a bag of crisps, a six-pack and a 4K TV.

No urine podals, no cocked-up kevins shouting “Smack” IM, Brov, “No regrets. Just fight Imagine it.