Jimmy Greaves died. He was a superstar. Possibly the best striker of his day, probably the best striker ever. Drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney, had a fitness programme that included jellied eels, pie & mash and ever such a lot of sausages. Took the bus, cleaned his own boots, sang ‘my ole man said foller the van…’ every Friday night in the pub and probably beat his wife with a really wide leather belt. He was pushed and shoved, punched and kicked, thrown into the mud and trodden upon, every single week, and up he got once more.

That was in 1963. Fast forward to yesterday, just 58 years later, and you have another ‘possibly the best striker ever’ in the guise of Christiano Ronaldo. He never smoked. Wouldn’t risk the calories of drinking for fear of spoiling an ‘ab’ of which he has at least 6. He has a live-in hairdresser and a house fisherman to catch his daily food. Cooked only with vegetables. Lots of them. And only after his personal team of nutritionists have approved it. And as long as you can’t ‘die of excessive vanity’, Christiano should live long past Jimmy’s 81st and final year. He’s 34 years old and ‘still going strong’, still scoring with ridiculous regularity.

But yesterday afternoon, after scoring for Manchester United, he changed his tack and decided to win a penalty. At his age, its easier than all that hard work to score a proper goal. Why else would he have spent such a ridiculous amount of the game sitting on the floor with his arms upturned and an expectant expression on his stupid face?

His manager bemoaned the referee for ‘missing three certain penalties’!!!! I bemoaned the ref for not sending the cheating tosser off the pitch. One of the challenges was indeed clumsy, missed the ball altogether and sent the Portuguese flying. Though as replays showed, he was already in ‘pre-flight mode’ before any contact was made. Already dragging a foot and falling forwards. ‘Playing for penalties’ is not just cheating but really horrible to watch. Especially for someone with so much unquestionable skill and ability.

So a brief message to Christiano: YOU’RE NOT IN SPAIN NOW. Greavesie would never have taken a dive.

Otherwise, there’s nothing much to report on football from this weekend. I’ve decided to become a serious critic of post-Brexit European superstar behaviour as compared with legendary icons of England, before Europe was even invented. Its far less painful than being a ‘fan’. And gives one the opportunity to act in the most outrageously snobbish manner possible. Holier than fucking everythou.

Happy Monday

A xxxx