Tell you what I dislike most about the modern game. Professionalism.
Yes, all the money in the game has brought exciting foreign players to these shores to brighten the gloomy winter days, but all the loot has had a very nasty side effect. We’ve killed the characters in the game.
Prime example close to home is the case of Jack Wilshere. I mean, Dear Lord, one effing fag break caught on someone’s Twitter Device and all hell breaks loose. We cannot possibly have our sensitive sponsors all blubbing and withdrawing their cash, can we?
George Best. The cars, the night clubs. The tight trousers. Superb. The morning after winning the European Footballer of The Year Award, George was found clutching the shiny figurine in a gutter after a night of serious thirst quenching. Marvellous stuff.
Vinnie Jones (baddie) clutching the goolies of Gazza (wayward genius). Again, terrific stuff. Marsh, Cantona, where are they?
You’d think in this day and age of micro celebrity scrutiny, there would be more revelations and scoops, not less. The only conclusion can be that they’ve all cleaned up their acts. It’s awful. Can you imagine having all that loot, so young. Would you be tucked up in bed after a soothing hot chocolate? I bloody well wouldn’t.
Written by MickyDidIt89