First off, apologies for my extended absence.
I was (a) right busy and then (b) sick as a dog.
You know what the first cold spell can do to a lad, even one as cold-proof as a Teessider. A few beers, a vending-machine's worth of fags, a cap-sleeved T-shirt and a night so frosty you almost expected some fey FA official to come and tell you that walking on the pavements had been banned, and wham!
One bacterium said it's back to mine and before you know it there were trillions of them barricaded me nostrils and rioting like Frenchmen on the back of me throat.
To be fair I was also hiding under the duvet during the speech by the Eton Axe-man . Comprehensive spending review? Not one of them feckers went to a bleeding comprehensive!
Here comes the night nurse and she's sneezing terribly
I've been propped in front of the box these days getting back up to speed with Countdown and Noel Edmonds's terrific telly programme which from what I've seen is called 'Are you a fuckwit?' (as in the banker's offered you 12 grand and you say 'Gimme the question, Noel' and the cheesy 80s throwback says 'Are you a Fuckwit?')
In the meantime the Theatre of Dreams has thrown up some top-quality drama. There's been a lot of bullshit from both sides but here's my opinion of the main players:
His performance in that press conference was so beautifully-pitched, wasn't it. He looked like a mouldering red plum dangling from a tree. And he looked his age.
I thought at one point, as he wrestled with the reasons why Wayne Iscariot had said he was off, a nurse was going to pop in with a couple of pills and a wheelchair and trundle him off to a corner where he could watch ‘Are You A Fuckwit?’.
He must be reaching the end of his tether now. He’s done his best for Rooney, that’s clear, but the opportunistic and graceless little shit has had enough but then that’s football agents for you.
It looks as though Fergie’s desire for a last hurrah is not even going to be a last harrumph. Mrs. Fergie’ll be steeling herself. Yer man’s coming hame.
Right. I’ll try and sum up the Hairy Numbskull in what might be interpreted as a rap.
Young Scouse bruiser,
Once a blueser, always a blueser,
Man U accuser.
(Fergie where’s your troosers!)
Agent’s a schmoozer,
In a Landcruiser
He’s a sky-blueser
Or to put it another way, there’s a former vacuum-salesman and unreliable witness who is well keen that you get that £10 million a year contract while you still can. Let’s face it £90 grand a week’s bog-all.
Course it’s a good idea to put out a statement saying how much you worship the Govan beetroot and the grand traditions of the club, but how you are disappointed that all the players you play with are shit.
'Ermm... surgeon sez he's gonna 'ave to keep the pot on til January'
Good to time to have an ankle injury, Wazza. Can’t see any of the first-teamers having the usual crafty fag and piss up against the bin with you after the next training session.
Fair enough the lad shouldered the club very well last season but Fergie’d be mad to fight to keep him now. Let him go to the end of the nearest rainbow.
The United fans
Well bless em, like a man caught between a piss and an orgasm they don’t know if they’re coming or going. There’s the ‘Sod Of Judas’ Brigade, who think Rooney has shown about as much loyalty the Theatre of Dreams as... as.. well as he showed for the School of Science.
I’m not quite sure why loyalty is expected from fans of a club that routinely lure talent from others without too many scruples. United are big, famous and successful. Should that make a player more likely to keep allegiance with them than, say, Scunthorpe United? No.
I’ve heard people compare him to Giggs, Scholes and Neville but them lads are United through and through. Rooney isn’t. Never was.
We could throw back the United/Big Club line when a transfer of some magnitude goes through: Rooney is simply looking to better himself and go to a club where he has a better chance of winning trophies. Seems reasonable all of a sudden.
The other faction at United are the ones in the Norwich scarves. As well as being big fans of Delia Smith, they really bloody loathe the Glazers.
Out with the Glazers! You 'orrible lot!
And who could blame them? Big Malcolm Glazer looks like he’s walked off the set of Witness. And he’s loaded that club with the kind of debt that might make Tom Hicks shake his head and mutter darkly about bad financial practice.’
This faction seems to have mistaken Wazza’s naked self-interest as a sign that he is their prophet. Now I’m all in favour of Glazer scurrying back into the land where reason sleeps, but Rooney’s departure, no matter what his agent writes out in neat for him, has got very little to do with who’s owning MUFC.
Nevertheless it’s true that United cannot currently compete with the very big boys on the European club scene. And you know what? Good.
There’s been a lot of talk about fairness this week. You know - sharing the pain around a bit. (By the way Mr. Cameron, a small suggestion regarding social housing – can we move into one of yours, mate?) But Man U taking comfort from a decent run in the Carling Cup for a couple of decades? That seems fair.
I don’t reckon much to Rooney’s behaviour full-stop. But I reckon United’s injured party routine is just a tad, well, incredible. You should be grateful – it’s not like you don’t need the money.