They say we are all dying from the moment we’re born. Likewise: from the moment a player signs for us, he is already heading for the door. I have a solution for this – which may sound harsh – but I do believe that if it is performed humanely, it may solve the problem…
“When is a door not a door? When it is ajar…”
“When is a contract not a contract..?”
It bothered me during the Great Cescape – when our club captain, with four years remaining on his contract, was allowed to throw the world’s longest, sulkiest hissy-fit – making himself useless to the Club, and forcing a move back to Barcelona.
It bothered me this week, when Alex “Blingalicious” Song slouched off to follow Fabregas to basque in golder pastures. (Our Top Deck midfielder was supposedly unhappy with his mere £55 000-per-week salary – hence the insolence? – and before you could say “WTF..?” he was gone). This despite two, maybe three years remaining on his contract.
Penis Over Brain had us bent over a barrel for nigh on a year – before he practically took a dump in it with his July 4th Declaration of Independence: the footballing equivalent of a ‘Dear John’ letter – and turned what should have been a routine contract extension into a drawn-out, messy divorce. (A divorce that left us with the house and the memories: he got to marry the home-breaking slut; and keep the kid. (Kid was a Man Utd supporter anyway, so, no loss there…)
Even as … Read More »