The Grumpy Cabbie takes his usual sideways look at the weekend’s sporting news. No surprises for who’s directly in his firing line.
That’s the last time I’m going round the mother-in-law’s for Easter dinner. Actually that’s the last time for any bloomin’ dinner, tea or family gathering. There was me looking forward to another Sky Super Sunday when the old bag announced that the grub wasn’t going to be served until half three. Flippin’ marvellous! I was due to meet Sanjeev and Baz down The Rusty Nail at 2pm for a few bevvies and the second half of the United-QPR game, followed by the big one at the Emirates. Cue the high-pitched wails of two banshees nagging and screaming that I was a selfish b*****d, only interested in spoiling the enjoyment of others. No point in arguing back. There’s only one winner in those situations and it wasn’t going to be me. Probably wasn’t the best move I ever made stomping out at half one, but as the old man used to say, always walk away from a fight you can’t win. Mind you, it didn’t help matters when I stumbled through the door at 8 o’clock and switched on the golf. If looks could kill I’d be a the bottom of the Thames right now with rocks in me pockets.
Looks like I’m not the only geezer in the bad books this morning. Blooper Mario dug himself a nice big hole yesterday and proceeded to keep digging until the Ref finally took his shovel off him. A law unto himself that boy. First he tries to make mincemeat of Alexander Song’s kneecap and, having got away with that one, spent the next half hour playing boot the Arsenal gnome. Mancini’s even more of a spanner though. He kept him on the field. Can you imagine Lord Fergie putting up with that nonsense? David Beckham sure as hell won’t forget getting on Fergie’s bad side.
It’s a bad sign when your own players stop to see if you’re okay when the team physios are treating you on the pitch at half time. Joe Hart didn’t look best amused when the red card was shown. Methinks they’ve had enough of Mario’s antics. Taxi for Balotelli!!
That Mikel Arteta has nice hair, hasn’t he? Never seems to look ruffled, even after 90 minutes lamping around a field chasing a ball. I know a fair few Gooner fans who have a man-crush on the Spaniard. Delicious goal though. Not bad for a panic buy last August. Bit like me hard-hat I bought the last time I annoyed the missus, Them rolling pins ain’t gentle.
Takes a good whack to send me to the ground though, not like that ponce, Ashley Young, Grow a pair man. A little tickle on the arm is no reason to hit the dirt like you’ve been smacked by Mike Tyson. That halfwit Harry Bush was in the cab the other day telling anyone who would listen (unfortunately me) that we should quit yapping about the divers and just accept it. That’s all well and good young Bush, but there’s subtle and clever dives and then there’s being blown over in a small breeze. Only one of these makes you look like a right tit. Eh Ashley?
Bloomin’ linesman shoulda gone to Specsavers. How in the good name of all the Saints could he not have spotted that offside. Even Blind Bertie down the Rusty Nail could see it and he was pointing Percy at the porcelain in the little boys room at the time. Cloning Sian Massey a few times over in some lab would cure a lot of those problems.
Some player that ginger wizard Scholes is though. Top top goal but the pass for young Rafael’s chance was a thing of beauty. Whichever eejit gets the the England job at the Euro’s should make him an offer. One last hurrah I reckon. Does go an alarming shade of red these days though after about 50 minutes. He’ll be drawing his pension soon so that probably explains it.
I see Celtic finally won the one-horse title race up in Scotchland on Saturday. Must have been tough when your only rival managed to lose some spare change down the back of the sofa and were docked 10 points for not being able to find it in time. Still, ye can only beat what’s put in front of ye and in Scottish football that’s usually not very much. Battered Mars Bars all round for the green half of Glasgow.
Only in America would someone call their kid Bubba. Ye’d not call a kid Bubba round my neck of the woods. Poor kid would be getting’ a tough time in the schoolyard with a name like that. Mighty fine golfer though is Bubba Watson. Hits her a mile and with every shape you can shake a golf stick at. For once I didn’t yell at the TV at some cryin’ gurner to man up and quit the foolish wailing. This kid, I heard, has some mild Attention Deficit Disorder going on with him so fair dues for handling the pressure. Can’t have been easy. Still nowt for Westwood though. Is it me or does he look and sound these days like he licked pish off a nettle before an interview? Grumpy sod.
Right, that’s enough for yis for today. Am going to lay low for the rest of the day. Her Indoors is still not in the best of form. Never poke an angry bear I say.