Sunday 16th April will be one of those days that people will look back with mixed feelings and in years to come fellow United supporters will ask you where you were and what you were doing at the time Sloth from the Goonies was hammering his penalty home against Arsenal. I had felt uneasy all day, just the suggestion that I could hope Liverpool would get a result had made me feel a bit bilious from the off. Normally in these circumstances I would hope for a 0-0 draw littered with cards and non-life threating but niggly injuries that keep key players out for months.
I felt on this occasion that a Liverpool win would probably completely derail Arsenals challenge though, so I swallowed my pride, and my own vomit, and quite privately hoped Liverpool would win. As the game drew near I started to think what it could mean if Arsenal did lose and in all the excitement I actually tweeted “Come on Liverpool” I was instantly sick and collapsed to the floor with the pain of what I had just done. However despite doing all they could to gift Arsenal 3 points the dirty bin dippers somehow contrived to enter injury time on level terms, so just for good measure that potato headed warlock Spearing tripped Fibreglass, probably rupturing his spleen in the process. Amazingly Dobbin Van Horsie was still on the pitch at this late stage of the game and he managed to summon enough power in his terminally brittle limbs to score the penalty. So job done for Liverpool, just see out the closing stages for a well-earned defeat and put a spanner in the works for United, but that poor Eboue is still struggling to learn the rules of the game and he impeded the saviour of Brazilian football Lucas to concede a last gasp penalty to the hubcap thieves. Of course had the Southport Slugger been on the pitch he would either have slammed the ball over the ball or even shot behind him at his own goal to try and confirm the victory. Gleefully he has broken his bail conditions and has to stay at home for the rest of the season so the chance fell to Sloth. He stood at the edge of the D, like a poor man’s Ian Dowie and I still felt sure he would put the ball wide, or fall over his own forehead. With a spritely “Hey you guys” he steamed in and arrowed the ball into the corner. I very nearly did some poo on the floor. Cue Arsene and Kenny having a cussing match on the side-lines, one which will of course go unpunished despite the fact that Sunday league managers all over the country will now tell each other to piss off after the game and refuse to shake hands.
Congratulations to Manchester City on a well-deserved victory in the FA cup semi-final. I have just been sick again. On the day they played better and as much as it pains me to say it they deserve to go through, where they will be taken apart by the Potteries Barcelona. This is not the big issue though, by banning Rooney for the “what Fucking What?” event they have inadvertently signalled the beginning of the end for their cherished cup competition. How? I hear you ask, well consider this. Should Citeh win the cup, it will be lifted by their captain, Kettleneck. This is the defining image of an FA cup campaign and think about the fallout. E-On will instantly cancel their sponsorship of the cup. How can a power generating company have a man with a horrifically scarred neck on their promotional literature, it’s a health and safety minefield. They would be advocating children burning their own necks on kettles, prompting lots of scousers to empty boiling water onto their offspring and launch a “no win no fee” claim against the energy giant. By carrying the images of the mythical beast and his scalded features they were saying it was okay, nay advisable, to burn infants. Then what happens when the images are fed out around the world via the various media streams. Imagine all those potential football fans around the world as they catch their first glimpse of the FA Cup, being held aloft by this “thing” all neck decorations and unruly teeth. What will their first impression be?
A) Wow, look at the iconic trophy it really is a symbol of the greatest and most revered knockout competition in world football. I must centre all my efforts on watching as many of the games as I can next season.
B) What the fuck is that holding the cup? That thing has blood on its fangs and must have eaten all of the players. I must never watch this shit again. It is worse than Colombian football. I must turn this off and cleanse myself with bleach.
Even if the sabre toothed beast doesn’t make the final they still run the risk of offending millions of viewers with the pre historic tackling of De Jong, the sheer ridiculousness of Balotelli, the unlikely shape of Komppanys head or the compelling femininity of David Silva. Not that Citeh will win anyway, the manner of Stokes semi-final win means that if they were based anywhere near London they would be heralded as the greatest team ever seen in world football.
The blurry minded Italian had a funny old day on Saturday. He was mainly innocuous during the game despite the odd neat touch and sprinkling of his undoubted skill. Then as the game finished he went over to the United fans to celebrate. Had it been Robinho I would have forgiven him as he actually thought he was playing for United and when he realised this wasn’t the case he fled instantly. Rio and Anderson didn’t see the funny side of it though and went to challenge the mentally deficient striker. As they approached he greeted them with “hello, my names Mario and I like ice cream and drawing with crayons”, disarmed by this the United men aborted their seek and destroy mission and headed dejectedly off the pitch. It is absolutely nailed on that Mario will disgrace himself at some point during the final though, it might be soiling himself on the half way line, it might be licking Ryan Shawcross just prior to a corner, but he will. He always does.