So then, Axel Witsel’s signing.
Oh hang on, no he’s not now.
But he might be.
Although probably not.
You should just ignore all the transfer guff, but it’s hard to when loads of bizarre websites are constantly saying we are in for all sorts of exotic fellas you have never heard of. Usually with a bid of £30 million.
We’re going to end up like one of them flowery-cuffed Paul Smith-shirted, Professor-Phil-Redmond-who-wrote-Brooky-barneted middle-aged fellas pulling up to the country pub in his Porsche with his lovely-looking young fiance. He talks loudly and gestures expansively with a large glass of red and lets onto the locals at the bar who smile thinly back at him but can’t wait for him to leave so they can slag him off, and all the while her bored face is constantly illuminated by the icy glow of her massive iPhone. He jokingly tries to grab it off her but sees her lip curl and genuine danger flash across her eyes and so just laughs nervously as she turns back to the screen, her immaculate French polish tack-tack-tacking across its surface, sending yet more flirty texts to some lantern-jawed STD-dispenser off TOWIE.
Yeah, that could be us that.
We seem to be in that weird market where, let’s face it, Liverpool have been for ages. Where they’re not going to get the very top players – those nailed-on Champions League big beasts – so they end up paying yards of dough for the plums who think they deserve to be giving it the big one at Barcelona but are willing to slum it for the fat end of half a million sovs a month.
You can imagine the agents sniffing around us now are like Henry McGee’s Seymour, the arl smoothie who has Rigsby off in Rising Damp. Offering us Fernando Llorente at a knockdown price if we could just lend them £50 until their war pension arrives on Tuesday.
There are literally too many of these clowns to list. Apart from Witsel, who is signing for us again now we’ve just heard – no, hang on, it’s off, he’s going to Inter – it’s gone quiet on Juan Mata, while the other persistent one is Napoli’s Kalidou Koulibaly. Chelsea are apparently the most likely destination for the Senegal centre-half, which is a shame because we had a couple of boss chants ready for him based on both of his names and inspired by Pixies and Sam the Sham songs. While at the Bridge they will no doubt just sing about him pushing pineapples and grinding coffee.
Did you do your David Brent, ‘Ooh, racist’ there for a moment?
The papers have definitely decided that ringtail-lima-eyed John Stones is on his way to Manchester City for north of £50 million. For all our reputation of being a bit of a cuddly club, embodied by ‘lovely man’ Bill Kenwright, you cannot dispute that we have got screwing cash out of the super-rich down to a fine art. That’s not to say Stones isn’t worth the money – we’ve said innumerable times that he has the potential to be one of the best players in the world. Despite his much-publicised flaws – flaws that were exacerbated by certain circumstances during the last year or so – he is just an absolute pleasure to watch. The pure aesthetics of the way he moves with the ball and his effortless appreciation of space fall into the category of ‘elevating the game into something higher’, and it’s not often that you say that of a centre-half. So, while you can certainly make a perfectly legitimate case for ‘snapping their bloody hands off and replacing him with Ryan Shawcross’, we will be losing an absolutely, fundamentally ‘proper Everton’ player, and that’s a little bit sad.
Stop press: Axel Wiesel has agreed terms and signing now.
Sorry, no, wait a minute…