Cod Almighty | Diary

Pour your misery down

5 September 2013

Mardy Diary writes: I saw the other day, on your internets, some fans of that Premier League taunting each other about a lack of/quality of signings made before the transfer window closed. That's last minute signings - panic signings, I like to call them.

I found it a bit odd I have to say, like when people compare the size of crowds or comment on the structure of a stadium. It makes we wonder what happened to just talking about the football - you know, that bit where the players actually kick the said object around a pitch. Perhaps celebrating the fact that your team is really, really shit-hot at the old football.

And the media just encourages it with filming outside grounds on deadline day, and ticker-tape news of rumour and sightings of players. This is followed the next day by talk of the "failure" of managers who didn't waste stacks of cash on a second-rate athlete. A failure to panic buy some de-skilled sports-jogger with a property empire and a gambling addiction. Footballer is a reserved word in my household.

It's a funny old game, alright. And when I say funny I mean tedious. And when I say game I mean shithouse. It's a right load of old tedious guff and spunk. You heard.

You might suggest that with Sky's diminished hold on the game it could improve a bit. But the Virgin/BT Sport cartel isn't interested in ousting Sky for the sake of the game; they just want to be the new Sky. Virgin - for fuck's sake - think a list of different sports is rugby, cricket, Formula One and Premiership. The despicable media plop-tarts.

So what is the point of all of this? None really, other than there is bugger all happening in the world of GTFC. I declare this a good thing. Let us rejoice and revel in the nothingness because it won't last for long and what it's replaced with is almost always disappointing.

Silence is golden. The rest is just noise.