As far as erections outside stadia go you would have to do something special to out-weird the statue of Michael Jackson at Fulham’s Craven Cottage. Quite why the rotund Egyptian has chosen to erect a statue of the musically enlightened but mentally flawed singer is a mystery, but probably has something to do with the inane amount of money Jackson spent at his corner shop. This shop was of course Harrods and as Al Fayed sold it for £1.5bn it is quite possible that he can’t think what else he could spend his money on. Not for him the huge investment on players that the village idiot at Chelsea has made, rather than a statuesque lady boy striker Al Fayed has chosen to buy a statue of a man boy instead. When questioned on what his fans might think about the statue Al Fayed said they can either “go to hell” or support Chelsea. Seemingly one and the same? So what might other clubs be inspired to erect outside their stadia;
A Giant pair of bifocals. When the Gooners cast their mind back to the reign of the sleeping bag adorned lizard man and wonder how the fuck he never ever ever witnessed any crime committed by an Arsenal Player they will see the big spectacles and remember he was just a blind old bastard. I had toyed with a massive goalkeeper statue covered in a tarpaulin in tribute to the fact that the youth team loving professor has always had a blind spot for keepers.
A glass container full of sodium pentothal. Then the villains can have a tablet and start telling the truth. Instead of saying they are a “sleeping giant, a club that deserves Champions league blah blah blah” they can tell the truth and say “we are just a boring club in the arse end of Birmingham, with a terrible manager and Fucking Emile Heskey as our goal threat”
A giant chicken. So in years to come their fan(s) can cast a glance at the chicken and remember the day those poultry farmers bought their club and sacked their rotund manager, thus breathing life into the demise of the town. Three successive relegations later and with David Dunn as their player manager the chicken will be symbolic.
In honour of the ultimate seaside resort they would have a statue of a Victorian styled family on a day trip to the beach. Like the town however the statue would be rotten and falling apart, it would be coated in urine like fragrance and unemployed pole dancers would writhe around it on a Sunday night begging for enough cash to buy an oxtail soup.
A very elegant and ornate statue with a carved bust of John Terry. From his slitty eyes water would gently trickle down into a pool by his feet. On the hour, every hour, the statue loses its footing and monetarily slips before the waterworks increase and flow strongly for 10 minutes. Or a life-size statue of Cashley Hole with a mobile phone protruding from his rectum.
A gigantic 40 foot bin. Instead of any kind of transfer fund in the future their owners, or whichever bland underachieving Americans are in charge, can use their money to purchase hub caps, roof tiles, shell suits, duty free ciggies and leccy cards which they then throw into the bin. After the game the fans are invited to have 1 dip each. Cue 38,000 very happy scousers unconcerned by their lack of success as they leave the council house adorned by their winnings.
So many options. A cabinet – anywhere else it would be called a trophy cabinet but in this instance they risk being troubled by trade descriptions. A stable – so fans could see where they housed Tevez during his time there. A huge bowl of lemons – so the fans could take a couple to suck during the game thus ensuring they sported their trademark bitter expression.
A holy trinity statue of their own. Shearer, Keegan and Dennis Wise. The triumvirate of dickheads that created their downfall.
A print of their stadium with the Champions league boards in place as this will be the last time they see them in action for the foreseeable.
A statue of Michael Jackson’s pet monkey in a lifelike pose. Then we can see of those cheeky cockneys really do love blowing bubbles.
A signpost. One direction pointing towards the Rugby league stadium, the other towards the pie factory.
In other news “rooneyswearsafterahattrickgate” continues to rumble on and I for one completely fucking understand it. The incendiary young man was fucking wrong to swear down the lense of a camera while there were young bloody children watching the fucking game. Clearly now all over the fucking country youngsters will score goals and then burst into a frenzy of foul mouthed abuse. Or maybe their parents will have an ounce of sense and explain that it is not right to swear and they shouldn’t do it. But what if the FA is right and there is an explosion of fucking swearing all over the world. Maybe the FA should speak to the government and use this as the benchmark in the future. I would like to see crimewatch banned instantly, imagine all those children watching the reconstructions and then careering round to the local bank and violently robbing the safe while brandishing a sawn off shotgun. What about the news? All bulletins should be screened before hitting the airwaves, imagine the looting, murdering, raping and fraudulent behaviour these impressionable youngsters could get up to. Given the constant coverage of the Raoul Moat and Derrick Bird situations I would imagine we are only days away from a plethora of earth shattering murder sprees as these children once again ape what they see on the telly. Or maybe they will realise that all of these things are wrong and instead watch a bit of fireman Sam while playing their fucking Nintendo DS.
It has been a poor week for Mario on the pitch, overshadowing his off field antics for once. Away from the cameras he has probably murdered a small African tribe because his hay fever was playing up but this week’s report is on his footballing ability for once. Or lack of it. As the bitters were defeated by the Bin Dippers (a match that left me feeling sick, it was like choosing a pint of piss or a shit sandwich) Mario was sent on to replace half man half horse Tevez who had gone lame. A period demonstrating his usual lack of application followed and eventually he suffered the humiliation of being a substituted substitute, not only that but he was replaced by a defensive midfielder despite the fact his team was trailing. When a similar fate befell Bebe the poor homeless lad was ridiculed and United were laughed at for signing a player so poor. Never mind Mario, in your spare time this week you could go and find yourself a family to take hostage at knife point and no-one will notice that you are a footballing shithouse.