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the striker cuts through our defence,
what’s happened to their common-sense.
if only we had played a sweeper
it’s goodnight if he beats the keeper

who’s number one, but now looks bigger,
close-up, a bloody scary figure.
“to hell with getting smacked again,
i’ll take a dive and get a ‘pen’.”

he trails a leg, he waves a bit,
then falls down like a sack of shit.
see how he writhes, and looks distressed,
how sad! the ref is unimpressed.

just waves him up, and gives a warning.
(the linesman can’t stop himself yawning)
and still he’s asking for the ‘pen’
“i’ll likely never walk again!”

and though he pleads for the award,
the arbiter is getting bored.

oh no, a card is coming out,
he’s gob-smacked! what’s all that about?
the stand arises in ovation,
he’s been sent off for simulation.

not before time muppet. and don’t come back neither.

what a sad debacle brown’s campaign visit to rochdale turned into. better still it was all his own work.

boy but he’s a dismal, preaching, boring, self-satisfied arse! on top of that he’s got a face like a robber’s dog.

(oops, sorry if i said anything like that, i forgot i was typing. find me somebody to blame. oh and make a note so i don’t forget to rip her head off later. oops am i still typing? shit! again.)

i can barely wait for tomorrow. why? because if the charmer’s decades-long record for re-announcing stuff if any guide he’ll give us this screw-up over again until his already lousy poll rating goes negative.

go on, pretty boy. give us a smile.

whilst chatting with some canadian visitors recently, talk turned to the subject of a famous wrapper. (what’s that about then?)

well, for the avoidance of doubt i should say that our subject was christo, the legendary installation artist, and self-styled wrapper of buildings and such, like the reichstag, or the pont neuf, as distinct from other bullshitters like eminem, jay-z et al, rappers of unsavoury lyrics.

speaking of bullshit, the main point of discussion was, perhaps surprisingly, neither the obvious, how could such a seemingly ordinary individual repeatedly separate enough otherwise apparently sane bystanders from their cash as to be able to fund his habit of wrapping random structures in improbably dismal fabrics, nor, for whom, apart from himself he thought his ludicrous stunts were providing amusement, but rather the prosaic question, what was our hero’s nationality?

needless to say, despite my feeling that the answer was ‘austrian’, i deferred to wiser counsels that the celebrated textilier was undoubtedly of the french persuasion. (every day’s a schoolday 😉

imagine then, if you will, my jubilation (alright then, my mild amusement) when later, whilst visiting wikipedia, the fountain of all knowledge, on unrelated business, i grasped the opportunity for a quick, speculative poke around the christo department where i learned that the great man was in fact born in bulgaria! (ya know, where the wheat comes from. just kidding)

and further that, following an extended period of statelessness he misguidedly applied for, and was granted american citizenship.

so it would appear that his only obvious connection with the land of the frog was that he went there and made a bit of a mess!

so he can’t be all bad then 😉

à bientôt mes petits choux-fleurs.

let’s face it, wayne rooney is the best footballer in britain; bar none. he could walk it. but he wouldn’t. see where i’m going here?

although he may not be the ultimate by any single measurement, as a package of skill, commitment, awareness, speed, strength, determination and a sheer willingness to go the extra mile, rooney is peerless.

it goes without saying, therefore that his value to manchester united goes beyond money. a player of his stature is impossible to replace, like-for-like.

so we’re all agreed: rooney’s a genius! but let’s try to remember that he’s also human. so, what do we do when wayne goes lame?

well because players like him don’t grow on trees to go out and find one is tricky to say the least: to say nothing about the cost and difficulty of liberating them from their existing obligations. at short order it’s impossible, not to mention outlawed by the league.

which brings us to the thorny subject of tevez.

if tevez did not want to play for man u, and who wouldn’t, i’ll pass my fags round! and as, effectively, a free agent it would surely have been well within the means, even of the glazer-strapped regime to have retained his invaluable services.

for the benefit of the slow-of-wit (not you surely?) i simply pose the question:-

what are manchester united short of for the remaining five games of the season?

who said carlos tevez? i’m with you!

over ‘ere son – on me head 🙂

i note with suitable disgust that gorgeous, pouting elliot morley, quondam mp for scunthorpe, and his vile co-religionists have been granted legal aid to defend themselves against the indefensible.

if a picture of morley (to the best of my knowledge the only mp whose constituency name includes a description of themself) is not enough to make the hard-pressed taxpayer puke, this surely will.

we can only look forward to the day they are sent down for the stretches they so richly deserve, and, i trust, are obliged to disgorge these (further ill-gotten) public funds.

(if guilty, obviously. none intended, obviously)

giv’em the rope 😉