Oh piffle and profanity. Is it that time again? Blue bloody blazes. So I
suppose you'll be here for your hilarious "soccer" column then, damn and
Here it is then, curse your impudent young hides. Bejesus, that it should come to this, a bunch of young
hoodlums badgering an old man into straining his enfeebled brain for your entertainment.
Hurrah. Hurrah hurrah hurrah for the return of the Football Association Cup Final. Have I mentioned, lately,
how the mere thought of the Football Association Cup Final fills my heart with horror? How every syllable of
every word tears like fishhooks down the psychic fibre of my karma?
You don't care, you say? You need another slice of that mouth-watering soccer cake and you'd slash your
own mother with a broken bottle to get at it?
Cardiff. Manchester United vs Arsenal. It's all very exciting, I'm told. Thousands of supporters will be there. Some of them will be wearing scarves, I expect, in all different colours. Football fans do that. And they eat pies and drink hot Bovril.
Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho is hoping Manchester United are going to win, because he's big
buddies with Alex Ferguson. That's nice, eh? Actually, there was another big Manchester
footballing story that I've heard about, now I come to think of it. Apparently the multi-million pound
company is being bought out by some bearded American, which a lot of people are quite upset
about. I feel for them, I really do. Feel my love.
Moving on, Lauren, who plays for Arsenal and appears only to have one name (and a girl's name at
that), thinks it's going to be a clean game with no controversy. Well that's sodding dull. Hardly
worth mentioning, really. Tell you what, let's try that again...
Lauren, who plays for Arsenal, thinks it's going to be a brutal, violent ninety minutes, packed with the sort of grudge-fuelled aggression that can only result in a bloody explosion on the football field.
He said to reporters: "We're going to take those Manchester wankers, and shove their heads up their arses. They're going back to their northern pikey dole pits with a goalmouth enema. Bosh."
There. That seems more interesting. Now, what next?
Edu, another one-named man, claims that Arsenal's 2-0 defeat at Manchester United this season will not affect their performance blah blah blah...
Edu's memories of Arsenal's 2-0 defeat at Manchester United have reduced him to a quivering, sobbing mess, seemingly unable to communicate save for a continuously repeated plea for death. Many of his team-mates have turned to heroin and crack cocaine in a desperate attempt to blot out the hateful memory.
Oh, this is much better.
Meanwhile Arsenal's captain, Patrick Vieira, has shot and killed the United winger Roy Keane in a
gangland-style execution at an illegal Manchester gambling club, during the early hours of this
morning. Shortly after two, while Keane was playing poker in a private suite toward the back of the
club, Vieira apparently forced open a skylight and entered the building down a grappling rope. He
then made his way to Keane's suite where he proceeded to shoot him twice in the back of the head
before gunning down the other players with a high-calibre automatic rifle.
Patrick Vieira is still at large, and police have warned the public not to approach him under any circumstances.
In non-FA related news, Athletic Bilbao left-back Asier del Horno has confirmed that he'll be moving to Chelsea. From Spain, probably.
See, there I reverted to the boring truth. Rubbish story. How about we set it in 1930s Chicago? And instead of a left-back, this del Horno guy can be a rough-edged but good-hearted bootlegger. I'm thinking Nicholas Cage for the lead. Now, he needs a reason to go to Chicago. Obviously not football. Ok - so he goes to Chicago with a truckload of moonshine whiskey to sell to the mob, but hmm. Well, we need a love interest, so he runs into his ex-girlfriend, as played by Jennifer Aniston. Aniston, sure. Yes Aniston from Friends. Did you not see The Good Girl? She's a genuinely talented actress. Listen buddy, you know your business, I know mine, okay? Now zip it.
So we've got Cage, Aniston and the whiskey in Chicago, but Sally (that's Aniston) is in trouble. Big trouble. What kind of trouble? Hell, I don't know. Debts. She's broke and down on her luck. Borrowed big from the sharks to pay for her mother's operation. Her goddamn spleen operation - shit, do I have to think of everything? Now she's dancing in some two-bit downtown sleaze bar for a guy named Tony. Tony's a nasty piece of work, real old school. I mean, his ass is bad. Bad to the bone. Hell yeah. So it turns out this is the guy del Horno's in town to meet. Friction from the outset. Bad juju. Del Horno's good-hearted, sure, but he's also a hard man, thrown out of the Chicago P.D. back in the twenties. He's seen Tony's type a hundred times.
Ok, now Sally cottons on that del Horno's in town, and she tracks him down - not to ask for help, no. This chick's way too proud for that. No, these two have a history, man. I mean, they've got serious goddamn passion in their past. But del Horno thinks she betrayed him, right? Because - fuck, get the writer to fill in the gaps - he just does. But she didn't. But she knows that's what he thinks, and for some highly plausible reason she wants him to keep on believing that.
So del Horno's not happy, okay? But business is business, and he's not going to go making trouble with Tony
over this chick from the past who broke his balls. Except, turns out Tony's not only buying whisky from
bootleggers, he's also selling machine guns to the Nazis (Ed Norton). Shit. Now here's del Horno's excuse to go
batshit. Break out the bloodbags, it's carnage. Obligatory final scene explosion and we're ready to print the
sucker. Oh, and while all this shit's going down, del Horno discovers the real reason Sally left him. Whatever the
Now that's a story.
Enjoy the Cup Final thing, Fracas fans. With any luck it'll all be over by the time we meet again.
- Clint
