Or Yannick on the streets of London.
Please don’t link to where these lines have been used before – ever since we were linked with Fitz Hall we get it, some bleeder on the internet somewhere has made every joke ever. Even that dead long spiel about when you went to Blackpool in the stolen car with your mum’s jailbird boyfriend, some fella had already done the same thing almost word for word on the Crystal Palace website Steve Harrison, One Cup.
There really is nothing new under the sun.
We had every intention of finishing the Euro Diary off, but the whole thing was shit in the end, wasn’t it? Once the sheer novelty of just wall-to-wall footy whenever you switch the box on wears off and you have to start actually checking who is playing, you remember that you don’t really care that much about international football.
And then we were going to get on the exciting goings on at Everton, but that got pretty tiresome too, to the extent that you were ready to boo Axel Witsel – interestingly the spellcheck tries to change that to Wiesel, which isn’t how you spell ‘weasel’ we realised halfway through that bit of sentence – onto the pitch on his debut if he signed. Which he never. Well, not yet anyway.
So where to start then? Well, probably with the most up-to-date batch of complete and utter speculation, namely that Peter Ustinov is going to buy the club and plans to build us the biggest, Scousest stadium ever. Rumours from a good source ‘in the council’ say the home dressing room will be The Cavern and the tunnel, well, two words: Willamson.
We’re still linked with all sorts of players, including Joe Hart, with his face that always makes you think of the lad in the photo on some fucking website called something like http://www.oioiladswhatafuckinglegendevenifheisabitdaterapey.com who is slumped on the deck in a toga with loads of rude words and pictures of mens parts drawn on his face with marker pen by his ‘mad’ mates.
James Rodriguez is another ‘big name’ we’re ‘tracking’, as well as Juan Mata, still, although it remains to be seen whether the mysterious Moshiri Millions will in fact stretch beyond any of our present crop of distinctly Stoke-ish signings.
What? Well, they are. That’s not a criticism – Stoke finished above us in the league last season – but you have to admit, we’re still waiting for anyone to come in who looks more exciting than the players who have, or indeed might be, leaving. That’s referring to John Stones and Romelu Lukaku, of course, not Aiden McGeady and Oumar Niasse, who Ronald Koeman could only make more aware that they are no longer required if he threw all their training kit out of the window at Finch Farm and then keyed their Aston Martins.
That Niasse, man. Apparently there are Premier League clubs looking at taking him for a season and paying him actual money. How much proof of the utter, desperate cluelessness of people in the game do you need when you read that? What is their thinking?
It’s just a good job that we’ve got our very own transfer guru now, isn’t it? Or is it ‘tsar’?
You can imagine the first sit down meeting with Steve Walsh when his contract was signed. Everyone, Robert Elstone, Farhad Moshiri and Bill Kenwright, leaning forward and licking their lips as the waiter brings the brandies.
‘Ok Steve, we’re delighted to have you on board. Ek-fucking-static in fact. So then, don’t keep us in suspenders any longer. Who should we bloody well buy?’
Walsh takes a deep breath and casts a glance to either side, to make sure he’s not overheard, then leans forward towards his new employers’ glowing, expectant faces, the candle light flickering almost demonically in their eyes.
‘Well then,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d never ask. Right. So. This lad. Playing out in Spain. Six foot, fast as you like, rocket in either foot. Scores goals for fun, and a full Portuguese international. What’s more, he’s got experience of the Premier League, when he pl…’
‘Let me just stop you there Steve. This better not be Cristiano Ronaldo, you cunt.’
Seriously though, imagine the pressure on Walsh now to come up with an absolute belter every time he opens his little Bob Monkhouse-style black book of transfer gems. Because what else does he do? In a couple of weeks you can’t buy anyone anyway – does he go and spend some time in the caravan until he clocks back on again in the New Year?
Every now and then Koeman will get a text out of the blue that just says: AARON RAMESY?? 😉
Can’t think of an ending.