It’s with great sadness that I must announce we have failed in our bid to Bring Harry Home to Anfield. With the expected departure of Luis Suarez, I had believed that the stars were aligned for Harry Kewell to walk – nay, MARCH – back to Liverpool, cheered on by thousands hanging out of their windows and sitting atop lamp posts, and take back his No. 7 jersey with a respect for the greats who have worn it before him – not least himself.
Alas, Harry signed for Australian club Melbourne Heart earlier today. I will not be returning the money you pledged as part of our campaign to Bring Harry Home, and will instead be using it to launch a bid to bring Florent Malouda back to public consciousness.
Didn’t I tell you how it would happen? No, really, didn’t I? Because I definitely did, and I almost told you exactly how it would happen:
1. Manchester United, 2. Manchester City, 3. Chelsea, 4. Arsenal
18. Swansea, 19. Reading, 20. Wigan
One thing I’d like to see this season:
I’d quite like Alex Ferguson to retire at the end of it all. In reality, I know that he’ll still be whispering in the ear of a melting fourth official as the Messiah and the Antichrist fight to the death in the Battle of Armageddon, but it’s becoming tiring, and I’d like a change. So can we just let him have this one, so that he, Giggs and Scholes might actually be allowed to die? I also have a feeling that Pep Guardiola’s waiting for Ferguson’s death or the battle – whichever comes first – and he’d make United much more likeable.
Any other business:
Roberto di Matteo will be found out for what he is – a strangely handsome luck merchant – and will be sacked/hurled into the water with concrete blocks strapped to his ankles in December when everyone realises that he won’t ever win another Champions League, let alone the Premiership. Buses and a back seven won’t work through an entire league season, and it’ll be interesting to see if di Matteo actually knows what he’s doing with Hazard, Oscar and Marin when Chelsea take it upon themselves to move the ball forward. As the Italian gurgles his way to the bottom of the Thames, Chelsea will somehow find a way to wrestle a Champions League place off one of their London friends or Liverpool (if they’re so fortunate), probably at the hands of John Terry – a terrifying yet inevitable prospect.
Harry Kewell has the leap of a small domestic dog, and is not as fast or good at football as he was in the early 2000s. His speed, height, technical ability will help ensure Liverpool come around seventh or eighth in 2014.
There are no media reports stating that Harry Kewell considers Anfield home and that he would relish the chance to return to Liverpool. Brendan Rodgers has never said anything about his desire to see Kewell return to Anfield.
Please bring £10 to my house. If you get off at Central Station and walk through the tunnel, you can put it under the mat at the front door. If we raise enough money together, I think we can definitely bring Harry Kewell back to Liverpool for real.
An impressive number of people have already pledged money to the cause, so what’s stopping you? I’m a fan of Liverpool, and so is my son. I don’t want him growing up in a world where Harry Kewell isn’t pulling his groin at a mid-table Premier League club. That’s unfair. An estimated 613 million people are fans of Harry Kewell, so that’s a lot of money if they all pledge £10. We can do this. Together.
1497 games, 0 goals. If we’re being honest – and in moments such as these, we tend to let a lot go – Sir Alex Ferguson’s record at Manchester United had been downright ordinary. You can’t even forgive him on the basis of assists, either – he has none. In those 1497 games, the manager, Sir Alex Ferguson, didn’t pick Sir Alex Ferguson to start once. He never came on from the bench – even Bebe played seven matches for Manchester United. Twenty-seven years at Old Trafford, and Alex Ferguson has nothing to show for any of them.
But let us not dwell on his shortcomings, though they are many. Let us instead reflect on his triumphs. He looks really funny when he celebrates. He looks really funny when he’s upset. He look really funny when he’s angry, and I’ll be goddamn damned if he doesn’t look really funny when Manchester City win the title in the dying seconds of the season.
He has seen the great players come and go. Bosnich, Neville (no, the other one), Bosnich, Bosnich, Milne, Anderson, Bosnich, Taibi, Obertan, Bosnich – oh, and Mark Bosnich, of course. And look to his child prodigies, the class of 1992. Ryan Giggs remains the finest left winger to have had an extra-martial affair with his brother’s wife, Gary Neville is Phil Neville’s brother, Nicky Butt’s career came to a pitiful end in South China, and Robbie Savage maintained a level of intolerability not witnessed in the Premiership since the days of Kevin Muscat. Ferguson bore them all – I wouldn’t put childbirth past him – and their legacies are also his.
United fans should be excited about a new era. With a grumpy, grudging, stubborn Scotsman to be replaced by a grumpy, grudging, stubborn Scotsman, much is changing at Old Trafford. They can be excited about the return of Cristiano Ronaldo who, after hitting the 200 goal mark for Real Madrid recently, is reported to be “shitting himself” with enthusiasm over the prospect of playing under one of the finest managers to manage Everton in the last ten years. They can be excited about the return of Ferguson in two years’ time when David Moyes is discovered floating face-down in a pool of his own tears. There’s a lot to be excited about. It’s exciting.
Get excited, everyone. Get excited.
Human hair grows everywhere on the body except for the soles of the feet and the palms of the hands, the lips, and the eyelids, apart from eyelashes. Like skin, hair is a stratified squamous, keratinized epithelium made of multi-layered, flat cells with overlying keratin (a protein), whose rope-like filaments provide structure and strength to the hair shaft.
Each strand of hair on the human body is at its own stage of development. Once the cycle is complete, it restarts and a new strand of hair begins to form. The average rate or speed of hair growth is about 1.25 centimeters or 0.5 inches per month, or about 15 centimeters or 6 inches per year.
But José Enrique doesn’t care for average rates or speeds. He’s a rulebreaker, a maverick, a renegade, a loose cannon, a rebel with a gun. He looks average hair growth speeds right in the eye and says, “Fuck you, I’m tearing up the book and going solo. I don’t need some faceless establishment telling me how fast I can grow my hair. I eat rates like you for breakfast. I only know how to do two things: play football at a level which would be considered above average, and grow my hair at simply offensive speeds. And I just finished playing football at my above-average skill level. I’m getting too old for this shit, but my hair isn’t. Here’s my badge and my gun. Take them – they don’t mean nothing to me. But take my hair? You’ll live to regret the day you were born.”
I don’t want to waste your time, so this should help you decide whether you want to go see A Good Day to Die Hard without having to read the rest of the review: there is a proper head-on-head collision towards the end of the film.
It takes balls, and at least one fist, to punch someone in the face, but to lay a nut on? There aren’t many men around willing to stick their head in when all of their other limbs are raring to go. It’s a great tribute to the history of unorthodox violence in the action genre, and is about as good as the film gets.
When the people who make the Die Hard films said they were going to make another Die Hard film, I doubt that any Die Hard enthusiasts saw the massive casting coup coming. Bruce Willis, star of the first Die Hard, the second Die Hard, the third Die Hard and that one where the car is flipping towards him and he ducks and the car hits two other cars and he doesn’t get hit by the flipping car, was back. If the last few Die Hard films were anything to go by, this was definitely going to be a film.
It turns out that A Good Day to Die Hard is indeed a film, and one that leaves the audience asking some big questions. How old is Bruce Willis, really? No seriously, how old is he? Did he actually walk amongst the dinosaurs? Why is he in films from the 80s?
I want to help Bruce Willis. He looks tired, and I’m not so sure that that’s down to “good acting.” I think he’s tired of life as John McClane. He goes through this film looking as though he’s hoping one of those bullets hits him. It ruins nothing to say that one never does.
To the plot: a truck smashes through cars like a truck smashing through cars, there’s a helicopter, and Willis does that hilarious thing where he squints, smiles and wrinkles up his forehead when confronted by a troublesome situation. It would be unfair not to mention that he does that better than anyone else in Hollywood.
A Good Day to Die Hard has just about everything you’d expect of a Die Hard film – words, pictures, and sound, too. Willis almost didn’t say ‘Yippee ki-yay motherfucker”, but then he did, and everyone left the cinema content that they had seen a film that was almost exactly the same as every other Die Hard, except set in Russia.
– Max Grieve
Do you like words? What about the internet? Do you also like having money, but slightly less in exchange for words from the internet? If you had 99p, would you spend it on words from the internet written by Ally Moncrieff, Jack Howes, Ben McAleer, Simon Furnivall, Paul Fisher, Hayden Shaw, Michael Moruzzi, Surge Biscuits, Rembrandt Q. Einstein, Handsome B. Wonderful, Hercules Rockefeller, Ryan Keaney, Ally Moncrieff, Ally Moncrieff and a frankly insulting contribution from Get Goal Side?
What if I had done the cover illustration?
Yeah, everyone would. Here’s the link.
England might be dead in a football sense, but that doesn’t mean that there won’t be a bunch of football matches taking place sometime soon. There are eight teams in the draw for the Champions League quarter finals, and if we’re lucky we’ll see eight teams come out the other side. Here are my predictions.
Bayern Munich v. Arsenal
Away pride counts double, so both teams go through to a two-legged playoff in the quarter finals at the expense of Malaga, the Spanish team that doesn’t have Cristiano Ronaldo or Messi. No, the other one.
Borussia Dortmund v. Galatasaray
A matchup so crazy it just might work. Nounkeu? Weidenfeller? Who are these guys? It’s almost certainly going to happen, and if you say it isn’t then you’re a liar.
Barcelona v. Real Madrid
This match could finally take place. For how long can the universe keep these two apart?
Juventus v. Arsenal
Away pride counts double, and it’d be foolish of Arsene Wenger not to take this opportunity to put out two teams in the quarter final draw. I’d put money on this happening – just not my money.