Thursday, 16 September 2010
I have to admit that it was an excruciating last 10 minutes. The interminable added time in particular seemed endless as I watched blurry figures scurry around accompanied by the threnody of drums and utterly banal (at least I think so - the sound was of an underwater quality, so it was hard to say with any accuracy) commentary on my computer monitor.
Tevez has had a haircut. Jo (what's with the sudden hat over the o? I can't even be bothered to find the right font to depict it properly) is unremittingly shit. Balotelli remains closeted in his game chair, along with Boateng (another one with irritating circumflexes). Still no sign of Michael Johnson. And the Europa League grinds on and on and on. I'm glad at least that I'm not a Salzburg fan, because that was pretty abject for a home performance.
Back in the EPL, it already seems a curiously fractured season, even so early in the day, and I'm finding it hard to engage with the City cause, though I am somewhat Hart-ened (geddit???!!!) by the stubbornly familiar moments of high farce. City till we die and all that.
Tomorrow the Pope is going to fuck with my journey home and next week the Trade Unions are going to fuck with my life in general. In between, I hope we're going to fuck Wigan. Up the shitter.