Things Carlos Tévez Would Probably Rather Do Than Play Football

Host and perform at an Ann Summers’ party.
The laundry from the Rugby World Cup.
Run around a Sainsbury’s car park squealing like a piglet.
Open a pub in Wales called ‘The Bull and Chinstrap’.
Make two hundred origami swans.
Go potholing with serial killers.
Stand silently, staring at his back garden, as the sun sets.
Buy ‘Yo Gabba Gabba’ memorabilia on eBay.
Sing ‘Eye of the Tiger’ 22 times in a row at a karaoke bar.
Start a diary.
Start a dairy.
See how many t-shirts he can wear at one time.
Wander lonely as a cloud.
A 2,000-piece jigsaw of a horse.
Watch the first season of ‘Freaks & Geeks’.
Worry about which wood varnish to use on his fence.
An internet search for ‘wood varnish fence’.
Ride roughshod over something.
Down a yard of baked beans.
Read.
Spoil the end of ‘Harry Potter’ for someone who didn’t know.
Carve “CT 4 EVA” into a large oak tree in Alderley Edge.
Label everything in his house ‘Carlos’ Mug’, Carlos’ Spoon’, etc.
Speak with an affected accent.
Make a mold of his right leg and fill it with tangerines.
Scan all his old photographs into his laptop.
Use a microscope to look at a grain of rice.
See his family.

How I Will Write my Super Mega Soaraway Premier League Preview

Always start at the top. Manchester United, they’re good aren’t they? I’ll start off by asking rhetorically if you’ve forgotten how good there are, even though they just won the league a couple of months ago. I’ll remind you to not write them off, which you were no doubt going to do. They’re still quite good. It’s true. They have Rooney and Chimichanga. They are dangerous. But, ‘what about Chelsea?’ you won’t say. Ha, they’re old I’ll say. Wait, but they have a young manager, who is like José Mourinho’s brother, so maybe he can win it all. That would be something. I bet Torres won’t score until the third or fourth game (that’s a good idea for another article). They’ll never get that money back (unless they do in shirt sales or something).

Ten Years Asleep

David Moyes is about to enter his tenth full season as Everton manager, but the club remains the Premier League’s sleeping giant. When he arrived his reputation was on the rise as a no-nonsense and tenacious manager. More recently, Moyes has drifted into a pragmatic high school teacher role, who watches his star pupils move onwards and upwards. What opportunity is he waiting for, or is it too late?

A League of Their Own

On Sunday, the USA takes on Japan in the Women’s World Cup Final. It has been an entertaining tournament and is being followed in the US on a level similar to the famous 1999 World Cup win, not least because of the heroic quarter-final victory over Brazil. Sunday’s game also carries significance for the future of the domestic league – Women’s Professional Soccer (WPS) – amid falling attendances and folding franchises, a US win could keep the league alive.

Questioning Corporate Kits

Nothing says ‘off-season’ quite like the media coverage given to Adidas’ decision to incorporate blue in Liverpool’s third kit for the upcoming campaign. Apparently, 70% of internet-based Liverpool fans are opposed to the colour scheme, the inference being blue is for Everton. So on the face of it, an apparent far-reaching, Toffee-based conspiracy is in the works; perhaps Adidas’ retaliation for Liverpool’s decision to wear hockey shirts the year after next.

However, I would suggest the Everton accusation is a crimson-hued sardine of sorts; the blue in question is not Everton’s royal blue, but actually shirt sponsor Standard Chartered’s ‘Off-shore Caribbean Tax Haven Cyan’. And whereas some Reds’ supporters think Adidas have deliberately fouled up their design brief, sadly it appears they hit it bang on the head. Assuming the brief was: ‘make our corporate log into a tight-fitting, wallet-lightening shirt, which we can give away every time someone in Asia opens a bank account’.

What is a Win Worth?

For the past two months, I have been attending and cheering on, to the best of my ability, the Atlanta Silverbacks. They were formed as a somewhat last-minute addition to the fledgling second division soccer league in the US, which lurches from controversy and drama, one week to the next. The Silverbacks have had an extremely short time in which to devise a squad list, let alone play, gel together and become a team.

For the past two months I have attended each home game with excitement, yet also trepidation as the incubatory, yet growing, team tried to work out opposition sides almost as quickly as they tried to learn their own players and tendencies.

AFC Wimbledon Means Nothing in America

The romanticism with which Englishmen approach the AFC Wimbledon story does not bear scrutiny. It is the tale of a jilted lover, a spurned advance, then cruelly fashioned into a dagger to the heart. Ripping one’s soul and essence from the body and transporting it to a foreign land. What remain are ashes. Nothing shall be built upon these foundations for a thousand years. Or so they thought. Because from those very ashes – and it is no metaphorical exaggeration (well alright, perhaps a little) – nothing short of a miraculous phoenix-like football club was born.

In the wake of the Dons’ unceremonious move to Milton Keynes, the fans and supporters of this dead club rallied and persevered to ensure local football would be their legacy to the area, and those that followed. Whether they ever anticipated such a meteoric rise is debatable, yet inconsequential. AFC Wimbledon are here, they are staying and they are now, heroically, once more football league.

The World’s Greatest Striker is Available for Transfer

It is unusual to have the world’s greatest striker openly available for transfer, but that will be the situation this summer. No, I’m not talking about the extraordinary Cristiano Ronaldo rumours to City, or Carlos Tevez whining his way to Spain; but the news that Nicklas Bendtner’s Dad said he might be about to do one. Now I realize my facetiousness perhaps mislead you with that tempting article title, but young Nicklas has gained a certain amount of notoriety for his bullish confidence in his abilities. As such, I feel it only fair to describe him as he would like to be described, upon the news of his imminent availability.

That Difficult First Phone Call to Fernando Torres (Since He Left)

Hello, Fernando? Yeah, it’s me. How are you? I’m fine. Hey, look I just wanted to get in touch, because I know that the last time we saw it each other it was, er, well, a bit awkward. Right? So, I just wanted to kind of clear the air; maybe get some things off my chest? Well, actually I think it would help us both. My therapist thinks it will help me, at least.

The Yin and Yang of El Clásico

Football is a game of balance. The pitch is divided in equal halves; teams of equal number attack and defend in a positional tug of war, which returns to the centre after every goal. At the end of a match one team wins, one loses (or if not, then they share the points). In order to play there is a basic physical requirement to keep upright (or as Ray Wilkins succinctly puts it: ‘Stay on Your Feet!’), without which the game becomes meaningless. Last night’s Champion’s League semi-final between Barcelona and Real Madrid was a game that reminds us of balance; that ‘for every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction’. For every scintillating match that can be played, there is always an abomination waiting around the corner.