Before I begin, I’d like to offer my apologies for my absence from these pages last week. Ha! Like anyone even noticed after Brody did his thoroughly researched piece of ghostwriting. I’d take every weekend off if he was going to fill in for me with such quality, but the fact that I’m having to type this without thumbs goes some way to show how binding my contract is with this website. So, if I want my dog back (article 5: clause iii), I’d better crack on with this week’s preview.
Let me begin with last week’s game against West Ham. From what I remember from the heady days of my youth, the Irons were never very good so I’m just going to use that fact to guess that we probably beat them. Rooney was mentioned all over the Twitter after the match, so he must’ve been the usual dynamic genius we all know and love. This is further proved by the fact that he’s not even playing this week because Vangle has given him the weekend off for good behaviour or something.
The next team to visit Old Trafford, and the subject of this next instalment from the contract of doom, is Everton. I’ve done a something search on “Everton” and the only results, or “hits”, I got are the name of the football team. There’s literally nothing else with that name so why name a team that? I don’t even think it’s a real word. Their stadium, or “home”, is in a place called “Liverpool” which seems like a perfectly reasonable name for a team. After all, teams having names that coincide with the place they come from are not without precedent: Arsenal, Young Boys and Kaiser Chiefs are three such teams that just popped into my head.
After a typically cerebral conversation on Twitter this weekend with @UtdRantcast, we jointly decided that the Everton players to watch out for in this game are Graeme Sharp and Pat Nevin. Seeing as I normally put three players in this section, I’ll also add USA Secretary of Defense, Tim Howard just because he’s great.
Prediction: The absence of our athletic and talismanic captain will provide few problems for a United team with such an embarrassment of Richards (<<this idiot needs checking before posting. DON’T FORGET THIS TIME!! SERIOUSLY!!) in attacking positions. Big Juan will replace him in that creative position that’s not quite a striker/not quite a midfielder and is most definitely not just a number. This will give Big Robin and Big Radamel the not unwelcome problem of deciding in which order they will bang in Big Juan’s delicious setting-up passes, giving United a two goal lead at halftime. Big Angel will score so quickly after the restart that he’ll get booked for embarrassing the whole of Liverpool, but will have the card immediately rescinded when the referee remembers how good his goal was against Lester. Big Janice Shay will play his part later on in the match when he scores with an actual intentional free-kick, but then gets himself booked during his celebration for pulling some peri-peri chicken out of his sock and proposing to the nearest girl with a spray tan. 1-0 Everton.
We all like Toffee – only a madman would deny that – but we don’t all like Everton. Why? Discuss.
Prediction: 7-4 United, Welbz with all 11.
There’s a film analogy that I refer to at this point that actually doesn’t really work, but because I deliver it in a prescribed quasi-intellectual way, I get away with it (Okay, not with all of you, but for the most part you’re all too polite to pull me up on it and there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s nice to be nice. And thank you). By the way, not to labour the point, but it’s the one – the film – where the fella does the thing that’s relevant to the current situation at United in a very abstract sort of a way. You know the one. Yeah, that one. Hey, well done you. You’ll be taking my job if I don’t wash my bach.
How can a team escape the clutches of father defeat when their leader, captain, talisman, officer, boss, councellor, dean, exec, eminence, forerunner, general, dignitary, ruler is missing from the frontiest of front lines? Probably via a goal storm of bibliobus proportions, on acount of playing a far superior player, but who’s counting?
Sunday’s opponents, Everton, are made entirely out of toffee, which explains why sweet-tooth Suarez enjoyed the occasional nibble on players in blue shirts. Perhaps to avoid being misunderstood the next time he gets the urge, he should take a small hammer to them. Actually, though most of them are made entirely out of toffee, there are exceptions: Howard, who is made entirely out of tourettes. Baines, who is made entirely out of the Beatles. Jagielka, who is made entirely out of conventionally handsome. Tony Hibbert, who is made entirely out of his full name. Distan, who is made out of himself 30 years ago. Stones, who is made entirely out of lined a4 paper. Coleman, who is made entirely out of ready mix meals. Oviedo, who is made entirely out of betamax. Barry, who is made entirely out of Dairylea triangles. Gibson, who is made entirely out of the tears of Roy Keane. Pienaar, who is made entirely out of the tears of Tottenham. McGeady, who is made entirely out of battered mars bars. Barkley, who is made entirely out of unicorn burgers. Osman, who is made entirely out of my old school friend Mike Gavin. Eto’o, who is made entirely out of birthday cake. Naismith, who is made entirely out of Paul Dickov. And Lukaku, who is made entirely out of Mourinho’s dystopian vision of the near future.
Prediction: Danny with his customary three.