The way the season ended last year may have been one of the most heart-breaking ways I have ever seen a season end. The rollercoaster that he second half of the season turned into, I honestly did fear would be the end of me. They say it’s the hope that kills you, and as we gained points on City until, at last, overtaking them, gave us hope. However, much like Carlos Tevez and modelling, winning last year’s league trophy just wasn’t meant to be for the Reds. And that hurt. A lot. Not so much because we didn’t win it, just because of the how they did win it. City had the better team last season they should have had it wrapped up long before they actually did, but they had to take it down to the final day of the season, which took us from cheering to crying (I admit that actually was what happened in my case) in a manner of minutes.
I love football. I love how it makes me feel. I love United, however they make me feel. I’ll love United winning the league, I’ll love United relegated, I’ll love United however and wherever they’re playing. But, sometimes, it hurts.
Yeah, alright, so the league never stops mattering, in fairness it’s the most important trophy, at least to me, every season. However, with the derby coming up it’s possibly the one day I stop worrying about the league for ninety minutes. Not because beating City is more important than winning the league, it’s really not; I would take a loss against City if we ended up winning the league, although I wouldn’t be too happy about it on the day or for the week that followed. Truthfully the reason why at this moment in time the league doesn’t matter is because I get more nervous than an old lady who doesn’t know where the nearest toilet is.
There’s hundreds of United blogs out there, some of them I read, some of them I don’t, but god knows I’m going to leave it to you to be all serious and do all them statistics about who’s won the most matches, who scored that important goal 105 years ago, not to mention answering the question of JUST how important this match is. I’m more of the, look at me, I’m fucking bricking it, lets all start a support group type.
So I figured, because between those of you that are all bricking it, I’d just come out and say it. You’re not alone, I feel you and I’m here for you if you need me. Or you could just watch this:
P.S. (Nearly) 35 years, won fuck all.
For some reason, ever since I heard that Rafael da Silva is getting charged with improper conduct (!!!) for complaining about being sent off unfairly, I have had the Go-Go’s We’ve Got the Beat on my head. Only the one line though.
First off, let me say, that the fact that Rafael, the cool tempered, serious and non emotional player that he is, has committed such a felony, in my opinion, means the electric chair would be too good for him. How DARE he show any kind of passion and disappointment at being sent off for a nothing incident? Does he not know how hard the FA has been working to stifle any kind of passion in the game for the last fifteen years? No taking your shirt off, no kicking the ball away, no running around celebrating a goal, no kissing the badge (actually, that’s just my personal request), no punching the air, no talking to the ref, no disagreeing, no swearing at the opposition. Actually, just don’t do anything. In another fifteen years I’ll be expecting it to be against the rules to kick the ball, after all that bag of air has feelings too (which is much the same as what Dwight Yorke learned about Jordan).
Whenever I have a bad day, I look up the above picture of Rafael, and it cheers me up. Don’t take that away from young players. Yes, they should respect the referee (of course, that may be helped by actually getting some decent referees and taking Mike Dean out back and putting him down Old Yeller style) and they should be taught sportsmanship, but you have to let the kids show some passion. The sport is already overrun by little prima donnas who couldn’t give a toss if they win or lose as long as they get their £1million a month and more escorts than Casanova could satisfy.
Football used to be a much more enjoyable sport when you could give someone a push without them crying like a little girl who’s had their lollypop stolen off them, or you could actually celebrate scoring a goal, saving a penalty or winning a match, the cup-leg or a final at Wembley. The more the FA tries to “fix” the game, the more they’re breaking something that was fine to begin with. Football needs passion. If we wanted to watch a bunch of cold-hearted mercenaries, we would be watching Rambo. Or Manchester City.
So, I reckon most football fans would have read about the transfer request handed in by Carlos Tevez at Wastelands (sorry, Eastelands). Apparently, and I for one is completely shocked by this, Tevez really is a money grabbing whore.
As it seems, Tevez didn’t leave Manchester United for the blue moon minority in Manchester because of the money, Tevez just though it was closer to home. Apparently someone told him you could jump on the Metro and go straight to Buenos Aires from outside the City stadium, and after 17 months of trying every single line on the tram he has realised that it’s most likely he was merc’d.
Seeing as Manchester City now refuses to pay for him to take a private jet back home twice a week, on top of another hundred grand weekly raise, he could see no other way but to hand in a transfer request. Which in all honesty City should have accepted. I mean surely the prospects of making some money off the ugly bastard rather than having him retire is quite tempting? Sadly Mancini and that scarf of his, which by now inhabits lifeforms of it’s own, has decided that because Fergie managed to deal with Rooney, they together can deal with their own greedy little twat.
There are whispers of course that Tevez may be headed to Madrid or London, however he continues to claim that it is all down to missing his family and that he is preparing a statement to be released where he will show the public his reasons for “needing” to leave and why City has no choice but to release him back into the wild. Boy, I can’t wait.
Guess that’s what happens when you give someone an arm and a leg, and the captaincy, without a fight. Shame Grizzly bears have a declining population, or I reckon Tevez would have been taken out back and shot by now.
P.s having read the statement, it seems oddly familiar in some ways. Aww well, this is how it feels to be citeeeeeeh.
Every football fan has those players they idolize, the ones they think will never leave the club. Most of the time as a United fan; I’ve been right with those assumptions. Giggs, Scholes, Neville, all players I never thought I would see playing for different clubs, and thankfully I never had to. I also used to think Wayne Rooney was one of those players, he loved playing for United, he loved hearing us sing his name, just not enough to get his head out of his arse and do his job.
Sir Alex confirmed in a press conference this afternoon that Wayne “used to sleep with grannies, now I like them young” Rooney wants to leave Old Trafford. Great, you want to go, you go. You may be our best player when you’re on top form, but lets face it, that’s rather inconsistently, and even when you are, you’re not worth 200k weekly. No doubt we’re going to struggle to find someone to replace what you’ve given us over the years, but we’ve lost bigger and better players in the past, Eric Cantona springs to mind, and you were never going to be as important as he was to us.
No one player is more important than the club, especially one who spends his spare time shagging some prossie when his missus is pregnant with their child. Especially a player whose greed clouds his judgement to the point where he thinks that he’ll ever be as good a player in Spain, or god forbid the Wastelands, as you were at United. And especially a player who throws away the years we have loved you, the things Sir Alex and our coaching staff have taught you, and what you have been allowed to be a part of at Old Trafford, the Theatre of Dreams.
I’m not about to shed any tears what so ever at you Rooney, you’re not worth it. As it stands I’d be happy to see the club trade you for a packet of Hob Nobs and a cup of tea.
PS. If you, by some miracle, stay, I for one will not be as forgiving as the Liverpool fans were of Steve “kisses the badge on his chest, hands in a transfer request” Gerrard. You are officially off my Christmas list.