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D minus or worse for the England squad after another dreary outing
RON Atkinson once described a player who had just committed a crunching tackle as a bit of a “wildchild” during commentary.
Clive Tyldesley, as quick-witted as somebody reading a panel show autocue, said: “With the ill behaviour”. Here was a man, I guess in middle age, making a link to the old club dance song Renegade Master by the Wildchild, the one which keeps looping the vocal “with the ill behaviour, with the ill behaviour, back once again”.
Either Tyldesley loves to bodypop to a four four house beat or he carefully researches Radio One culture just so that he is capable of filling time in dull matches. However obscure his references.
And boy, did he have to do that on Saturday for yet another dreary, pointless, England international. By the end we didn’t care that England were losing, we just wanted this demonstration in dullness to end and Je-war to come on. In tribute to Ewar Woowar, who died this week, that’s what I’m now calling the twins on X-Factor. No ‘d’s, right.
In the heat and haze, Tyldesley deliriously began rambling on about players like David Platt and Michael Owen who had hardly played a game for England before making dramatic impacts at World Cup finals. This was the prelude to Tom Huddlestone being beckoned from the bench. Deary me.
FORGET the riveting, edge-of-your-seat England friendly on Saturday, this week’s story of note must be the revelation that the football world has gone mad for the healing powers of a Serbian woman with an unnaturally steady supply of horse’s placentas.
Arsenal’s arrogant and annually crocked frontman, Robin van Persie, has followed a huge list of European footballers to bathe his precious feet in the finest equestrian juices.
The tales from previously “saved” footballers seem at times biblical in tone, or like an advert for injury lawyers for you, but her popularity is such that even that handsome hobbler Jamie Redknapp has nostalgically pined after her rubs.
In typical fashion, Manchester City have tried to buy her.
Evidently nothing is sacred, not even a miracle worker.
No doubt they’d shove a catering contract under Jesus’s nose after that handy trick with the bread and fish.
So it looks like some messy days ahead for the Premiership’s physios, next season we’ll probably have player’s heads wrapped in umbilical cords after aerial clashes. |
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