“Happy New Year” is me telling you all (Ha! “You all”) a massive lie because it’s still 2014 as I write this. In my head it’s still 1994 but that’s my problem, not yours. If it WAS still 1994 we wouldn’t be playing Stoke because I don’t remember them playing back then, ergo: they didn’t exist. Luckily for you, they are a real team with real feelings and they’re probably one of the greatest teams in the country that are called Stoke City. It’s a lunchtime kick-off for the teams today, so there’s no worry about having to do whatever “it” is that Messi may or may not be able to do on a cold and rainy night in Stoke. I’m guessing it’s “pay his taxes”. Allegedly.
In The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, Bilbo manages to free his dwarven companions from jail because their elven captors have gotten intoxicated and fallen asleep, yet in The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Legolas the elf spends all night drinking and barely feels the effects. Do you think this is a grievous continuity error by Peter Jackson, or is Legolas just double-hard? #Rantcast
Prediction: Vangle’s boys will shake off their hangovers and revel in the double-time that they get for working on a Bank Holiday to clinch their eight million four hundred and eighty-six thousand two hundred and eleventh victory in a row. Di Maria should be back all guns blazing, but if he isn’t, I’m sure someone else will play in his stead. If he does play, he’ll get the first goal with a lovely little dink over the ‘keeper after a slick move through the middle involving Robin and Rooney. If he doesn’t play, then the first goal will be an absolute belter from Falcao after he’s given too much time to pick out the top corner by some lacklustre defending. If HE doesn’t play, Rooney will score a hat-trick. Unless Robin does. Either way, its another victory for United and the Reds go marching on on on. Except when they wear white. Or those nice blue shirts. 1-0 Stoke.
United’s much-maligned midfielder, Anderson, has come in for a lot of criticism over the last few seasons. I must say that I found him to be the epitome of politeness and professionalism when he discovered me in his back garden last week. Over a nice brew and some Eccles cakes, he told me that his passions outside of football are double-glazing, fracking and duty free shopping:
I honestly don’t know who we’re playing and I’m still in bed wanting to die.
I’m not sure who has managed to book New Year’s day off, so there’s no point guessing who’ll be playing. No doubt they’ll all be nursing the mother of all hangovers. I just hope Vangle has got plenty of crisps and fizzy pop for those unfortunate enough to have been rota’d in. Let’s hope none of them are crippled by the inevitable ontoligical anxiety a massive hangover brings. Cold beans straight out the tin works well. Apparently baby food does the trick too, but haven’t tried that myself – Fred Durst swears by it.
Having to work two Bank Holidays in a row seems really unfair to me. What do footerers have to show for it? It’s not like anyone is paid to do a kicky sport; the world isn’t that mad … yet!! I’ll tell you what they have to show for it … a few bruised shins, depending on how many legs they have and a grass burned side thigh from the frozen pitch. You’d be forgiven for asking yourself, is it really worth it? The answer is simple: They do it for us. (That’s ‘us’, not America). And for that we owe them a great deal. Maybe one day we’ll hand over all our hard-earned as a thank you for all their years of altruism. They could even trial selling ‘replica kits’ as a revvie new stream, like the kits they wear but ones we can wear while watching them wear theirs. Just a thought.
Ma Cues and his alter ego Spar Key (who hoofs water bottles and shakes his arms like my Uncle Peter at New Year’s Eve down the welfare) have done a very good job of assembling a team consisting of eleven men, with a few extra making up what they describe rather derisorily as substitutes. Not sure they’ve got round to naming any of these ‘men’ yet. Guess we’ll never know.
Prediction: All hell to break loose when they open the fridge that’s been making all those noises and that.
Note to self: Think of a way of adding the footerers names on to these ‘replica shirts’, so people can remember who these everyday heroes are and perhaps start singing songs about them. Maybe that’s too far?