So our first game’s out of the way after the long, dry, real football environ that is the off season and it was great to see the Bay Area Gooner contingent down at Maggies in San Francisco at the weekend. A really great bunch, & good friends. There was a lot to take as positive from the most A-Typical Sunderland park-the-bus approach which was to be expected from an O’Neill team with as much will to win as a fat kid bunking off P.E. with a note from his mum. There were some obvious missed passes that were due to lack of playing time but all the new signings looking good if yet to gel. ESPECIALLY our new Spanish wizard who would rip the Sunderland attempts to stop him, apart at will. Yes there was ‘that’ miss from the benefactor of my new Jersey (12 Grimboud)… but fuck it, that’s just lack of playing time. We didn’t get gazumped with a last minute “against the run of play” goal for the Northerners so the pub left in good Song, which as it happens brings me to the main point of this post.
Much of the talk and swearing in the pub was about the biggest back stabber since the streets of London were roamed by some bloke called Jack who had the unfortunate last name of “Ripper” – I mean what other profession was he likely to take up – Jack the Ripper: Professional Fartist? Yes I jest, but I think I’m on fairly solid ground in saying that this is how most Gooners (barring Ian Wright of course) see the YaarVeePee situation. If our old captain’s betrayal was a Hollywood script that could have been penned by George Lucas himself (boyhood fan, becomes man, stabs mentor in back after flirting with the Dark Side) it appears to be an annoying trend that we find the talent, usually overlooked, undervalued or passed over for whatever reason, develop it and then when it’s either becoming the end product or is showing real promise, some rich fuck rolls up in a Limo with a chequebook and fiscally flashes their tits at them. Their agent says “PHWOOOAAR” and starts ‘talks’ then advises the player to start agitating with a quotes like “I’ll always be a Gooner” – “At the moment I’m a Gooner, in the future who knows” etc. This occurs after a conversation along the lines of: (in your best Arthur Daley* accent) “Look sahn, ah do this all the time yeh? Best fing to do is let me ‘ave a chat with ‘em yeh? Find aht wots on offa and then cahm back and see what the Arse do. Either way yer onto a winner right? Yer’ll eivver stay an’ get more whonga, or go and get more whonga – either way; more whonga!” We know the rest… Papers have a mediagasm spend all day finding out what rhymes with ‘club in crisis’.
Bottom line is that money talks, and classless fucks gravitate towards piles of cash like a meteor flirting with the Earth around the end of the Jurassic era. It has always happened, it will always happen, those are the facts. We either plan around it or we try to emulate them. Both options are fraught with danger – the former is that we can no longer compete; the latter is that a big money donor might not be of the Abramovich/Mansour ilk and might be a crook that plummets the club into Man U levels of debt.
I personally believe the former is the better option purely because I’m looking at 2014 when the sponsorship deals are up and if ManUre can get their underpants sponsored I’m pretty sure we can too. The former allows us to be in control of our own destiny, the latter is akin to puckering up, closing your eyes and hoping whoever you make contact with isn’t a complete munter. Plus – the news of David Silva’s stalled contract talks, and Adeybeywhore’s ‘transfer’ to the Spuds show that all Citeh have done is created cash-expectant monsters who have a sense of entitlement not seen since the House of Lords in its glory days. David Silva is on 130k sterling a week and wants parity with those on 200k in order not to feel undervalued. In reality I laughed a lot more than this, but for the sake of my word count and your patience I will limit my tittering to: Ha. Ha. FUCKING Ha.
Back to us – what do we do in the mean time? There’s about 18-24 months until we can pump new sponsors for the privilege of sitting underneath the famous cannon and until then I think it’s time we set up a set of criteria that are pre-requisites, not for new players, for ANY player we’re interested in. They are as follows:
1) DNA screening: All players that we’re even mildly interested in must submit their DNA for testing to ensure that no Barca DNA is present. If it is in sufficient amounts then they are rejected without question because I’m a non-violent person but reading that initialisation** and that abbreviation in the same sentence makes me want to go Hulk over the whole of Catalonia which I’m told, despite the despicable nature of their club, is actually a nice place.
2) Agent interviews: All players managed by Darren Dein are firmly told to fuck off until they have removed the cunt. Kees Vos is fast getting to the same level except that the Verminator re-signed and isn’t looking like those other players, having said that I thought the same about horse face.
3) Little boy checks: Before any terms are discussed when we/they are showing interest they must have a Cat scan to see if there are any little boys inside them. If present, said internal little boys are psychologically profiled to discover if they are in fact the sort of little boys that will ‘hold their breff’ until they get ice cream. If so they are rejected.
4) Coaching badges check: Players must submit to a lie detector test to discover if they hold any coaching badges or indeed if they know ANYTHING AT ALL about the running of one of the world’s biggest football clubs. If they do they are rejected because PLAYERS are PLAYERS and should just fucking PLAY. Not dictate to CLUBS things like policy, transfers, tactics, etc. Suggestions, fine, but demands? Fuck you, you fucking fuck. I do wish I could be in the changing room of a certain Northern club when a certain Dutchman tries demanding something from a certain Scotsman who is to Wenger’s calm and collected reasoning what a smooth Islay Single Malt is to Diet Coke & Mentos***
So a simple four step plan to get us to 2014… I like it, but then I should, it’s my idea.
For now, it appears that we may have a couple of new signings still to come in but I can’t be arsed on the speculation because that’s what twitter is for. In the whole this is not an unpleasant start to the season barring the usual blatant one sided reporting from the press but I’ve recently discovered new Zen Master Techniques help me control my reaction to those. All our ‘usual’ competitors lost barring the irritable bowl syndrome of football; Citeh who were almost beaten by a team that cost 3 million, a great match – hats off to the Saints – and to their fans who after the final whistle sang as if they’d won. So until next time – purge your mind of Songs about Purse strings and C’MON YOU REEEDS!
*Search Youtube for “Minder”…then get the joke.
**Not to be confused with an acronym as an editor recently told me. An acronym makes a legible word like FUBAR, LASER, LANS where as an initialism is just first letters; TTYL, FYI, BTW.
***Really – you haven’t seen what happens when you put a Mentos into a bottle of Diet Coke? Where the fuck have you been for the last five years? Do you know what the interwebs is for yes? Sigh… ok – click here