Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Manchester City: The Massage Club

With the body of the QE2 still warm, the gods are now mocking my lifelong loyalty to Manchester City. First, Joey Barton - the footballer who talked sense - leaves and now the club is to become some sort of Thai-Swedish operation. At least the massages will be good. But it's not right and the prospect of Sven delivering his solemn post-match homilies is unbearable. It is, I think, time I turned away from the team that taught me all I know about suffering. But, in the vulgar wasteland of the Premiership, what are the alternatives?


  1. That's not how football allegiance works, and you know it. If you can change it, you haven't got it in the first place. You're stuck with City, Bryan, no matter how much you hate them.

    But fear not: managers, players, even stadia and owners, all are transitory; Man City, with its unique and often hilarious character, is forever.

    All Svens must pass.

  2. Things have been in decline since Psycho left. Now they’re about to become a safe haven for somebody who looks like he should have been the villain in a Bruce Lee movie. I see Man City playing all their home games from a small island off the coast of the North West, a fortress, if you will, watched over by an evil-genius with detachable fingers.

    I’d suggest you join with me and support the Premiership’s fairest playing team but, alas, I think it impossible given your other phobia, greater even than your fear of clowns.