His fairytale appointment caught the imaginations of the football world- standard procedure for a group of that status, fascinating, extraordinary, yet drab and dingy at the moment, this satire only throws light with the question- has this season been a jamboree, thrash, success or a learning curve for the ‘Not so Special One?
The stage was set for a blockbuster; curtains rolled upwards, clapping and cheers resonated all around, of course not for their rivals. Albeit the bullion vans salaries and ‘’add-ons’’, it is Antonio that is taking the managerial shoot-out trophy home; Azzurri. Awful and lacklustre, ‘the complaining one’ has been erratic, bewildering with his vocal cavity, yet charismatic with his kicks; one would start to wonder- what’s all the fuss about goals, with goals scorers sitting on long benches. He has failed to astonish us with his magic of old (real, perceived or manipulated, I don’t know), rather it’s now looking like a “show of shame’’- who would have bought this season tickets, if only a preview was allowed.
His team have littered the “’theatre of screams” with shrieks of ‘’ohhs’’, ‘’ahhhs’’ and Draw-Wins- interpretation and perception is bliss! As they march to a make or break exercise with the men from Vigo, vigorously ready; the vivid thoughts on everyone’s mental matter … is Old Trashford in turmoil or have they hit their reverse gear, while looking forward like a Mr. Bean narrative?
Enthusiastic rivals must be relishing this plot as it unfolds. They say fear is wisdom in the face danger. But this unperturbed gaffer, has been through mental and physical extremes, just to prove critics wrong and light the world with his mastery of ‘THE ART OF DEFENDING’’… a veteran of unsavoury speeches- bemused as we all at his and their lot, wriggles, antics and a menu filled with draw soup, only affirms this insatiable human desire of being Numero Uno- what wouldn’t one do to get ahead in this round leather game.
Stranger things have happened though, even as we sift through the files of Kloppo the ‘rock star’’ reflecting on another non-electric outing, Pepsi Pep asking for more drink, sorry time, growing balder by the day as his tinkering has entered over-drive- thanks to Jesus; a saviour and helper, to his rescue again in this second coming of his. How can we forget our erudite ‘Professor’, Monsieur Mugabe whose mathematical algorithms told him that 4-6th is indeed a forward and upward trajectory, known and understood by only a few- Shhhh, a genius is at work here!
The boys and men from Manchester have turned their excuses of injuries, suspensions, emojis, fatigue and congestion into their own 3-4-3 winning formation. The weakest United edition in recent times (having driven Fergie’s Bugatti Veyron 2013 model), fitted with hand crafted, expensive components, that run and function like antelopes (0-3 assists in 32 mph/games), permit me to say this cog needs to be looked into. Infinity, sorry Infantino, surely agrees with me, as we head, with notes books, laptops, mathematicians, tax collectors and men in blue… to the manufacturing and shipping bay of this great cog in the beautiful (on paper) super turbocharged machine.
A ferocious team of old, needing only seconds to make a kill, now in a tepid, timid, always in a state of sixes and sevens.
Oh Dear! Is this poetry or truth, metaphor or not, it sure exudes that feeling of a decent, as we ponder on who the sediments of the process will be- the great Maroune, or Small-boy, surely Sir Jones have sent a telegram to his agents and parents to acquire an alternative place of abode before it becomes dire, as he might be fishing with the U20s in the next script. whatever the case maybe, we can only look forward, as the next installment (season) will surely be a box office hit, with a lease tenure of 3 years; the drama we all prepared for with ice creams and popcorn, a scramble to the front rows, seem to have been postponed or the least become a preview cum commercials to the main feature. Value for money? Well your guess is as good as mine, as I humbly creep towards the Bridge, where the forecast says the sky is all blue, nothing but the rain of balloons and loud cheers, with loud filtered songs of jubilation and jamboree, heard from across 7 miles of the next habitat- irrespective of the fact that it might be a Toilet-Ham or not, it’s inconsequential as they keep their factory up and running, churning out bottles, so as to generate a profit and pile of cash.-hmmm.
This literary piece is not in any way meant to demean or otherwise, rather to serve as a substitute to the expected but deprived entertainments. with the formidable never say never Burnley, resurgent Everton, odds-defying Rafa/Magpies (Jose’s best buddy), unpredictable Watford, Southampton, the cliff dropping scare of the foxes, not to mention, the United legend and ex- gaffer, Moysey, that decided to forge an alliance with the Boro, to go shopping once again on the floor below, after 10 years of residing in the penthouse, rubbing shoulders with the ‘big boys’ – it’s been a remarkable adventure this term, but succinctly and simply put-I just want to make common sense!