When Mr Bifurcated (I don’t know his real name) asked me to contribute to his website, I immediately asked about the remuneration package. After getting some very evasive responses, I finally realised that I was supposed to do it for free like all the other “writers”. This struck me as odd, particularly with regard to @tom_mcghee as I know him in real life and he charges me a Queenhead every time he texts me (it’s a plumber thing); but if that corporate shill does it for nothing then I suppose I can give it a go. Until something better comes along. Or I get bored. But what if they don’t do it for free? What if I’m being mugged off and they’re all laughing at me for being such an idiot? Oh well, just like real life, then.
I thought I’d start by doing some research on the site, and came to the horrifying realisation that I would be expected to write about football; in particular, MAnchesTA United (pun #1). I did not see that coming. Particularly because I know for a fact that I’ve never said anything serious on Twitter about the beautiful game. Or any other topic. Ever.
Anyway; football. I’m supposed to preview the Cardiff game but I’m refusing as I feel that a Welsh team shouldn’t be playing in an English league. Not for nationalist reasons, mind you, but purely based on travel complications. Why should we have to take our passports for domestic league and cup games? They should be saved for those special occasions when we tour the Far East or the States on important shirt-selling missions. Champions League? Not a league and far too many non-champions playing so that’s irrelevant. The upside of this Welsh segregation is that, in my mind, we’ve never played/never will play Cardiff or Swansea and so results against them don’t Mata (Boom! That’s #2). I’m still outraged that United are out of the FA Cup due to an administrative error/lost ball during the ITV draw.
Hopefully making his debut on Tuesday will be our newest toy, Juan Mata. If you aren’t on Twitter, Mata is a handsome fellow who knows how to wear a suit and also has a beard. I wouldn’t actually class it as a proper beard, more of a sexy pebbledash (nice Mataphor, Benno; and that’s the 3rd pun!) Probably not the usual prerequisites for breaking the club’s transfer record, but I’m assuming that if you’ve got eyes, then you’ll have an understanding that he is quite a special little player. I base it purely on the fact that he was Chelsea’s number 10. When I was a boy, the number 10 shirt had magical properties and was worn by some of the best players to ever grace a pitch (see: Diego Maradona, Zinedine Zidane and Ian Marshall), so for a team with as many number 10 candidates in it as Chelsea, the chosen Juan (#4!) must be magic to have that shirt bestowed upon him. Football hipsters would have you believe that the 10 role is a “floating trequartista” or “back-pedalling conquistador” or some other such bollocks. The number 10 shirt goes to your best player. End of.
Unfortunately, Juan’s older, uglier brother has that shirt at the moment so it looks likely that the recently vacated 7 will have the four sexiest letters in the world printed above it. This is lucky, because the United 7 is even more magical than all the other numbers combined (but that wouldn’t fit on a shirt, if I’m honest). Its previous occupants have included: my boyhood hero, Bryan Robson; my teen hero, Eric Cantona; my style hero, David Beckham; my winking hero, Cristiano Ronaldo and my, erm, one-trick pony hero, Antonio Valencia. (I actually have a theory about poor old Toni that I’ll share at a later date. On second thoughts, I’ve rambled on enough so I may as well add a few more words that nobody will ever read. I believe Toni is playing the long con with defenders. He’s doing the same thing, game after game after game, in order to lull the opposition. THEN, in a twist that even J.J. Abrams couldn’t think up if he was on acid, Toni will pull a NEW trick out of the bag and win the big game. Why he hasn’t done this already, I have no idea. Like I said, it’s just a theory.)
Anyway, Mata deserves the 7; it’s been waiting for him since Ronaldo left and it will be great to have a World Cup winner picking up where he left off. Even if it is 5 years since then.
[Phone rings: “Hello?……… Number 8?! Seriously?…….. FFS. I’m not changing it now, it’s far too good……… Well, it’s all right……… Well, it’s a lot of words…….. What the f*ck do you know about comedy?……… Good point…….. Thanks. Love you too, Mum.”]
I imagine that Mr Bifurcated (note to self: find out his name) is pulling his hair out at my “short match preview” so I’ll wrap it up and do the only bit that will actually make it online…
Prediction: 3-1 to United, with a brace for RVP, both set up by our new number
seven EIGHT who also bags the third before being subbed off to a standing ovation so he can get suited and booted for the press conference. Romantic, eh?
About the author: I’ve never been to Wales.
Dislcaimer: All puns contained herein remain the intellectual property of @PaulGunning1.
As for Cardiff…
Ole has breezed into the Premier League with the assurance of a man who’s never attempted to exit a coffee shop by pulling the push door. No doubt, as a child – “the foetus-featured, L-plated sniper” – he’d mastered potty-training well before his teens. What?!
Tis, on the surface of it, a strange job for Ole to have taken. But the reality is, the expectations of the fans are relatively low, he’s got money to spend, and if it goes wrong everyone’s going to blame that bloke wearing the massive baddy outfit, with the massive baddy face, who behaves like a massive baddy, with a massive baddy neon sign bolted to him reading ‘MASSIVE BADDY THIS WAY’, and not Ole.
When we played them earlier in the season – when everybody’s favourite spoonerism Malky Mackay was still in charge – we couldn’t beat them then, even with the away advantage. So, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see them limit Mata to just two brilliant goals.
Prediction: 2-1. Having received the signal, Ole to suddenly get up from his seat and calmly make his way towards the centre-circle, where he begins removing a patch of loose turf, revealing the rusty box where he’d some time before stashed his Remington Model 700 rifle. It all now becomes clear: *flashback waves* the incident with Rob Lee was a carefully orchestrated distraction. Haven’t you always wondered what Ole was doing as last man back? As Rob Lee had made his way over the halfway line, Ole had been busy burying an object – we now know to be the rifle – but the onrushing conventionally attractive footballer had disturbed him; and thus threatened to give the whole game away. Thinking on his feet, Ole gave chase, and brought GQ chops down, just outside the area, creating a hive of activity well away from the middle of the pitch. Ole was, of course, sent off, but as Newcastle prepared to take the free-kick, Ole, having now disguised himself as a discarded crisp packet (a costume he’d had on under his kit, in the event of something like this happening), returned quickly to the pitch, finished hiding the fire-arm, replaced the turf and disappeared on the next zephyr… *flashback waves* Ole (now back in the present – keep up!) loads the rifle in two slick movements (which gets a round of applause from the Old Trafford crowd, which he acknowledges), and with one shot he takes down his target. Meanwhile, Chris Woods and Phil Neville have removed their masks, to reveal they were themselves all along.
Danny to give his permission for Mata to score his customary two for him.