(@Benglorious)

Here’s yer boy with some more faultless logic – City thrashed Chelsea. Both City and United didn’t win in the Champions League last week. Ergo: United are as good as City. Double ergo: United will thrash Chelsea.

Prediction: Did you not read that flawless argument? ’nuff said. 0-0 United.

M

 (@tom_mcghee)

I will not be doing words out of respect for the death of the Labour Party also I hate Chelsea the cunts

Prediction: ‘I will not be doing words out of respect for the death of the Labour Party also I hate Chelsea the cunts’ to become my preview. Cunts.

MM

(@bifurcated_utd)

Ole’s march to the Treble continues tonight. After setting up the return leg with PSG perfectly last week, these “lazy, good-for-nothing, low-life scum sloths with pig trotters for hands, and snails for feet, with hearts made from shit, and really wet shit for brainless brains” (verbatim Chelsea Manager quote), will not know which day of the week it is when we’re finished with them. Monday.

Can’t wait for Ole to emerge for the post-match interview in a loin cloth, carrying Sarri’s head, resplendent with fag sticking out of its gob.

Prediction: Chelsea to abso destroy us, cos Alexis7 and Fred. 0 – 0 United.

In anticipation of this book, and to placate my impatience at not having it in my possession, I read some reviews and soon noted the many instances where the word ‘detail’ came up (seven, as it happens). I became slightly concerned; perhaps detail was code; political internet shorthand for goes on a bit. Turns out detail, meant … detail. This though is not your garden-variety detail, no, this is deft verbal photography masquerading as detail. And how!

The Promised Land is a land where players wear the tackles of their opponents, astonish free-kicks into the top corner and clueless midfielders tory away their chances when through on goal. Daniel Harris is not concerned with perfunctory documentation – simply re-counting and re-imagining the treble winning season – he sweeps you along, more than willingly, to re-live it, re-love it and re-remember why it was you loved football in the first place. Every sentence is owned: these words belong together, they’re not shoved in against their will where others would have sufficed, they’re pleased to have been selected, to be telling the story, showing themselves off even. The eloquence hits you with the dexterity of a prize fighter – you’re flat out enjoying it before you even know it.

Followers of Daniel Harris on Twitter will already have noticed that he is a crack shot when it comes to highlighting the affectations of the modern footballer and the book doesn’t disappoint on this score either. It also goes further, taking in the cognitive dissonance presented by modern football fandom adroitly with well selected asides and observations.

This book is so good, it would be easy for me to say that any fan of any club would enjoy it, but I think I’d struggle to read the tale of Liverpool’s not-really-a-treble-treble without desperately hoping to feel a little underwhelmed. However, if you’re a fan of books – and if you’re not, then maybe you need to ask yourself: why not? – then all I can tell you is this: The Promised Land is one of the best books I’ve read and I can’t recommend it enough.