Chelsea will win the league
Chelsea have scored 25 goals. That’s more than anyone in the Premiership. Chelsea have conceded 2 goals, that’s as many Manchester United concede in their recent second halves. With the exception of Chamakh - possibly - Ramires is one of the few significant purchases by the Big Four to have hit the ground running. Even luckier for Chelsea, Essien is back and possibly better than before.
Chelsea are leather-clad, effortlessly handsome, and charmingly chatting up The Premier League. Look, they’ve one hand leisurely cupping its left buttock. United, City and Arsenal, meanwhile, are too busy comparing cocks in the bogs to even make sweaty-palmed eye contact with it.
Garry Cook, unlucky in love.
Poor Garry Cook. He invites Kaka over, only to ‘accidentally’ open the door wearing nothing but a towel, seductively tailored entirely out of banknotes. Kaka, sadly, had taken his dad with him to meet this new suitor, and totally ‘bottled it,’ leaving him semi-naked at the front door. Garry watched him saunter off to another bloke in Madrid.
Poor Garry Cook. He waited all summer for Big JT to make his way to his new build Manchester bachelor pad. He’d passed him a series of secretive love letters, printed seductively on paper made entirely out of banknotes. His jaw dropped as the ex-England Captain changed his Facebook status to from ‘it’s complicated,’ to ‘in a relationship with Chelsea.’
Poor Garry Cook. He made it quite clear that the notoriously loyal Wayne would be welcome to come over to, you know, pick up a mixtape that he’d made for him, no pressure. Wayne examined the mixtape - made entirely out of banknotes - before succumbing to such guilt that he ran back to his lover. Just when Garry was unzipping his flies.
Poor Garry Cook. Right now, he’s in his office. Paul Stretford’s not there anymore with his tits out. Brian Marwood’s in the corner of the office, earnestly asking 118 118 for the number to Ronaldo’s agent. ‘Come on Garry, we can pull this one off, boss, promise.’
Footballers enhance their reputation further
Sure, footballers always gave the ref a hard time, but at least some of the time they didn’t dispute the plainly correct decisions. There were exceptions, and they became fewer and fewer. In the Premier League, the bullying by the big boys became routine. The kind of routine that inspires a housewife to embrace the gin and valium. Keane and Stam chasing a ref around at Old Trafford is a classic example. John Terry is noted for his willingness to dole out constructive criticism to the ref on a minute-by-minute arrangement. Manc fans’ hero Wayne Rooney got his first red card for sarcastically applauding Kim Nielsen.
Life in England is all about nadirs, and one was achieved this weekend when Manchester City played Arsenal. The players in blue were committed, but to aggressively contesting every decision whether correct or dubious, rather than trying to do anything constructive in the second half. They wore an expression of entitlement that rich footballers only wear prior to their orgasms. The kind of orgasms that inevitably leads to being taken in by the boys in blue for a couple of hours’ questioning.
Fans cross the stupidity line of no return
Football fans could be regarded as a comically thick spectacle, if only there weren’t so many of them. Booing every decision against their team, raging on the radio at the inevitability of a worshipped mercenary becoming a hated mercenary. Defending assaults on DJs who don’t like In The Air Tonight one moment, damning other assaults in nightclubs the other, all according to club allegiance. Why are they all so fucking stupid? There’s a lesson for us all to learn, and stick to:
As one of the few good guys left, a Liverpool fan, put it,
‘I like it when Steven Gerrard does a goal, but that doesn’t stop me thinking he’s an arsehole.’
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