The following fatuous nonsense is the First In A Series
The Premier League is a cesspool, a primordial ooze breeding greed and violence. But even within the ranks of hell, certain souls receive precedence. So just who are the Beelzebub’s of Britain’s premier football competition? In whose breast does a heart of darkness truly beat?
Chelsea – Not short of potential candidates. John Terry is a lottery winner, thick and obnoxious, but there’s no real malice there. Ashley Cole is a greedy little man, a paranoid whiner, convinced that the world is conspiring to keep him from what’s rightfully his…. so just your average citizen then. Ballack is a thug and a bully, but no more than a henchman in the grand scheme of things. Didier Drogba is a foul mouthed sneak, a sleazy twerp. Actually rather likable. No friends, at the Bridge the true villain, the warped and twisted mind behind the vast criminal enterprise that is Chelsea F.C. is….. Branislav Ivanovic.
Ivanovic is proof that the greatest villains are the ones you don’t even know exist. They walk amongst us, unnoticed, unhated, until one day they show up at your back post, unmarked.
Arsenal – The easy choice would be Manuel Almunia, but once we start discriminating against five o’clock shadowed goalkeepers with botched dye jobs that look like they’ve been done with purloined bleach in a prison 2-in-1 handbasin-toilet combo prior to donning a badly cut suit made from a sweat stained mattress cover and going over the fence while the bull in the SouthEast watch tower lights his end-of-shift cigar… then where does it all end?
Well, here it ends when I tell you that Theo Walcott is, or rather, is going to one day be, the man behind the wheel of the Jaguar Mark II.
Villains aren’t born, they’re made. Like Harvey Dent, Theo Walcott is a good man. But we stole Walcott’s youth from him, and eventually he’ll be driven to collect… with interest. Until then, don’t look too closely, lest you see through the artfully arranged veneer of youthful promise, and your blood runs cold with the horror of what lurks beneath. Why do you think Cesc wants to go to Barcelona?
Manchester United – Some villains, as they age, begin to acquire a certain air of dignity and respectability, usually false and misleading. Ryan Giggs for example, whose mere longevity makes us look back fondly on an earlier age of villainy, when men were men, and the bodies were buried discreetly in the woods, instead of in acid vats in the basement. So how much more troubling is the case of uber-villain Paul Scholes?
For even in his callous youth we ascribed to him the virtues of a more senior man, and looked the other way as he waded through gore, season after season. We stop in at the social club to give our regards to his family, grinning at his familiar jokes, while blocking out the anguished screams from the debtors being knee-capped in the back room. Just another day in the neighborhood.
Tottenham Hotspur – Harry Redknapp is no villain. Like Henry Kissinger or Cecil Rhodes, he operates at a higher level, where crime becomes policy. Tottenham’s chief troglodyte is in fact Ledley King.
Like all great villains, Ledley King simply will not go away. The prison hasn’t yet been built which can hold him, and he’s never more dangerous than when his back is against the wall, his knees have fallen clean off his body, and his hands have been bound together with duct tape. Cause that’s when you will think that it’s okay to turn your back on him. Think again sunshine. You’ll never take him alive.
Aston Villa – Twenty members of the squad are merely play-acting. Pantomime villains, if you will. (Chuckles). But not Richard Dunne.
Mark Hughes cast Dunne out of paradise. But if he thought that was the end of the story, he had another thing coming. And that’s bad news for the rest of us, because as far as Dunne’s concerned, we’re just collateral damage. Richard Dunne intends to eat his omelette, and we’re the eggs which must be broken. See you in the frying pan.
Manchester City – The Manchester City squad have you strapped to a chair. They want the combination to the safe which contains the blueprints do a weapon so deadly, that if it fell into the wrong hands, it would mean destruction of the free world. As you look at Emanuel Adebayor and Carlos Tevez, you feel fairly certain that these are the wrong hands. Then they back away, and Stephen Ireland enters the room.
You laugh at first, at his clown cars and his facial hair. Then Gareth Barry shakes his head and says, “You shouldn’t have laughed at him. You really shouldn’t have laughed at him.” The laughter dies in your throat and a chill comes over your entire body, and for the first time you are really really scared because you realize that the man who wears that beard and drives that car is truly capable of anything.
To Be Continued…. so start despairing now.