There was no post yesterday, and I apologise for that. Things beyond my control prevented my daily digest hitting cyberspace – namely, the bloody internet connection at my house decided to go into full meltdown. I did consider using the WordPress iPhone app, but that tends to be about as user-friendly and a condom smeared with Tabasco Sauce.
I also considered going all Tron Legacy, and transporting myself into BT’s Homehub and engaging whatever pesky gremlin had caused the malfunction to a race on those fancy neon cycles. Or Disc Wars perhaps. However, having consulted the manual. I discovered that’s not actually possible. Pity…
But, hey – I’m back today. (cue: howls of elation)
One of the things occupying my mind in the past day is transfers, or the distinct lack thereof. Not being the type to veer wildly from hope to despair, the fact a relatively unknown Frenchman with a dubious injury record is our only addition hasn’t worried me at all.
However, with such promise on the horizon, and time steadily ticking away until the glorious return of Premiership football, my thoughts have taken a turn toward the uneasy. That’s not to say I’ll be lining everything in my home with black bin liners and screaming at the internet until I’m blue in the face – I’m not quite than unstable. It’s more the recollections of seasons past that troubles me.
We’ve been here before. We’ve been promised much, only to see excellent players depart to be replaced by those not quite as good. I desperately hope this summer will be different – one where top players sign and the same tried excuses aren’t thrown at us ad nauseam. Yet, as each day passes, edging us closer and closer to the panic zone, I begin to doubt my initial optimism was wise.
For all we know, Dick Law is spreadeagled on a beach somewhere, lazily rummaging in his underpants and sipping on a cocktail, instead of negotiating deals with Europe’s elite. Perhaps all this talk of “big name” additions is a marketing ploy to get us all hyped-up and throwing our disposable cash at the new memorabilia.
Or perhaps all this boredom is allowing my mind to play tricks on me…
I have no insider knowledge. I merely speculate and then ramble. There are many with legitimate sources within the Club who assure us wonders will materialise. Deals could be announced tomorrow that are so earth-shattering, I might explode in a mass of goo, ejaculates and smiles . They could be….
I just wish they’d hurry up. Put us out of our misery and allow us something of merit, that’s substantial, to talk about. I’d love nothing more than to be able to write about how gleeful I am now we have Higuain and Suarez spearheading our attack.
Then you marvellous people wouldn’t have to come here, read a few lines and exclaim,
– “What the f**k is he talking about? This post is close to 700 words, and he’s not really made anything resembling a salient point. I think he’s abusing a substance. I mean, Jesus Christ – he’s now rattling on in the form of a quote from a un-named other person – supposedly one of us who reads his stuff. He’s just filling up space with blathery muck. I don’t like this blog anymore. I think I’ll insult his mother, inform him of my recent sexual relations with his cat, and then send a polaroid of some excrement to his E-mail address”
And you’d be well within your rights to do so (but please don’t).
That’s me done for today. The comments await your views and opinions below. Should be interesting. I’m going to head into work now, and file a harshly written complaint about how hot it gets working in the kitchen at present. I do believe I’m having a few issues with my sanity.
As always, thanks for reading, you beautiful bastards.