Quite frankly, I think I’m just too busy to worry about football this year. Maybe next year. Maybe never. Maybe when the Messiah walks once again among us. That’d be Gareth Bale then. Who, with his new beardy thing now even looks a bit Jesus-ish. Put a pair of sandals on him, maybe ditch the Bentley…

Though poverty was not an essential thing. Jesus was poor because he gave everything away and lacked the true skill-set to make it in world class football. Who knows; with a bit of training he could have made it like Gareth. Then He would have driven round Nazareth in a drop-top with an arm full of tattoos. But it wasn’t to be.

Where was I?

Yeah, busy. Fucking busy. Always things to do, things to consider, to act upon, work, work, work.

I couldn’t even go to Trent Bridge yesterday for the cricket. I was at Tai Chi for 8.15, the absolute best way to start a day. Tennis with Spurs Paul for 10.30. And Spurs Paul is also Lords Paul who loves a bit of cricket, and didn’t start checking his phone for scores for a good half hour. Though it was truly inevitable that he would check his phone and that the news would be good. By the time I came home from tennis the cricket was over, the Ashes back here, WHERE THEY BELONG, Australia had lost and Michael Clarke had retired as captain. He is now officially a criminal and will be sent to Australia to serve his sentence.

And then: cometh the hour, cometh the car wash.

Ok, the Premiership Season, official opening, first game of the season, (fanfare, trumpets, strumpets and something that rhymes with bunting), Manchester United playing the Hotspurs of Tottenham. Wow. Life gets no bigger than that. Nothing has more meaning, more significance, more wonder and awe.

So I went to get the car washed by my friendly Albanians. Well, they’re friendly when you’re paying them, they’d slit your throat for a pot of Turtle Wax and a big sponge in other circumstances.

Then there was lunch. My favourite meal at that time of the day. And by then we’d scored a fucking own goal and the match, which had started with such promise (deja vu time) crumbled into tedium and dross and we were the first team to go bottom of the league and even now we’re below Arsenal and they haven’t even played yet and I have to ask myself: DO I REALLY NEED THIS? AGAIN??

So that’s it. The season started and its finished already. I don’t care. Not about Bournemouth losing, which was a shame. Nor about Norwich; how bad can it get when your first game is home to Crystal Palace and you get shafted? Nor about even Chelsea, whose rotten little manager is blaming the medic for his team’s failure to win and won’t talk about the ref’s decision to send off his goalie for an act of common assault.

I’m so desperate to avoid football I might even consider watching golf. Snooker. Darts. Women’s rugby. Hmmm, women’s rugby…

Happy fucking Sunday

A xxxx