Go Set A Smallman

‘Maureen. Maureen! Have you seen this big string of piss? Drawing parallels between a summer hiatus in updating his little-read online blather-sheet and the 55 year wait for a follow up to Harper Lee’s seminal Pullitzer prize winning Southern gothic classic. The absolute nerve.’

He should get on this summer’s non-laughing gas craze and write an open letter. As opposed to a closed letter. Which is essentially an envelope.

‘Ooh, who can that be from? Do we know anyone in Ruislip? Ruislip? Is that near where your Terry lives. But he’s been in Sharm for a week now, so it can’t be from him. Anyway I think it’s Redditch he lives near. Ruislip, Ruislip…’


Whoa, hang on. Did we say that out loud?

What’s going down, hombres and hombresses? Staying frosty? Good to hear.

Them Toffees are back in training and even featured on the telly in a game against Stoke City that was about as eagerly anticipated by the viewing public as the bit on Don’t Tell The Bride right after the break where they recap everything that happened four minutes ago, before the adverts, for the benefit of the terminally hard of not being lobotomised. As opposed to all the good bits.

Apparently it’s like playing in the airing cupboard in Singapore; the players looked the colour of boiled shite by the time it went to a shootout, but they stuck their penalties away quite magnificently, even if Romelu Lukaku’s Jake the Peg stutter-step method is guaranteed to see him come unstuck when it counts during the season. Tim Howard saved one from some Stoke player – it was days ago, who cares who it was? – and Phil ‘Jags’ Jagielka positively rifled the fifth and final kick into the top corner like Andy Moeller.

Can’t do the accent.

Their reward for this is a game against Arsenal in the ‘final’ of whatever ‘competition’ this is.

On the transfer front, Chelsea have reportedly offer £20 million for the cool-as-fuck-until-he-does-something-mental John Stones. Everton have told them to sling their hook, and likewise to Manchester City regarding an enquiry about James McCarthy, but we all know that’s always the opening gambit. That’s not to say the Toffees are going to cave in – and the promise of next season’s daft telly money means that for the next couple of summers at least, traditional ‘selling clubs’ are going to have a bit more power to keep hold of their best players, by essentially paying the cunts the sort of money you usually need the wealth of a sovereign nation to generate. However, telly deal or not, other transfers elsewhere this summer are a reminder that there always come that point when, if the player fancies the move and the buying club are truly determined to get him, that the total cost of keeping them is just not worth it.

Already you can see though how this once-in-a-lifetime broadcast bonanza, which if used wisely could get the vast majority of clubs back in a far more sustainable state, is going to get baby-battered on the massive diamond watches and double-parked super cars of the world’s wealthiest remedial class.

And the thing is, dear reader, most fans want the clubs to give the money to the players. Every time they say ‘buy him’ or ‘don’t sell him’ they are really declaring ‘give the fucker more dough and hang tomorrow’. And under that pressure, and with the creeping fear of being overtaken by the competition and – heaven forbid, the spectre of relegation – the clubs are going to stamp their own ticket for a gravy train that seems destined not for Trophyville Station, but a big Wild West jaggedy broken bridge over the mighty Colorado River.

Before then though, the Blues might buy Jonny ‘nowaitchtooenns’ Evans from Manchester United. Luis Van Gaal – and the utmost ‘props’, whatever they are, to whoever originally said he looks like a massive budgie – doesn’t want the centre-half any more, presumably because he looks like he works on the phones for E.On, wears a pair of Toms with his shiny kecks and spends his lunchtimes smoking Silk Cut outside Greggs with a gang of dead orange girls with isometric eyebrows and leopardskin coats.

He’s thinking about getting a ‘full sleeve’ but keeps changing his mind about the design.

He’s one of them fellas that everyone just says is last, like Tom Cleverley and Darron Gibson, because he plays for one of the krakens of world football without being a superstar. Granted, he’s never stood out – which is why they are willing to let the bleeder go – but chances are that as an international footballer who has progressed to the point where he has been a fairly regular starter for a club with the money to take their pick of world talent, he probably isn’t ‘shite’.

And yes, that’s us crying it in just in case we do buy him.

Just remember, this Arsenal game’s only a friendly and will give no indication whatsoever about the season ahead.

Unless we win.

3 thoughts on “Go Set A Smallman

  1. Call me a miserable arl fatty meff but if we lost McCarthy and Stones (*shudders*) I actually do hope it goes to every single creditor we have and we finally get rid of the millstone that seems to have been around our neck for at least the last 20 years.
    We’ll also finally have to buy Ashley Ward too then.

  2. Ever thought Atticus Finch was just a bit too good to be true? The Jessica Ennis of Southern Gothic. Only blemish for me. He was probably banging Calpurnia soft.

  3. “The massive diamond watches and double-parked super cars of the world’s wealthiest remedial class”.

    Cap well and truly doffed to that one, MO’B.

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