Oh, good grief. I arrived in Kuala Lumpur last night in time to watch our 3-0 thrashing by Arsenal in glorious Technicolor. I then find out we’ve sold James Milner to Villa (properly, this time – not like that farce a year or so ago when we changed our mind at the 11th hour). He’s going to be a star, that one. Always one of our hardest-working players, never a doubt about his commitment despite contract wrangles. If nothing else he deserves every ounce of our respect for the sweat he bucketed on the pitch for us.
Next up, we’ve drawn Spurs (at home, mind) in the League Cup. Always a good encounter, but a hard tie especially with them being the current holders.
Then we have Keegan worried about Owen. Despite first team football and the whole supporting army behind him, he’s being realistic that with new contract negotiations underway another team could snatch him. Which would really put us in the shitter with only two remaining starting strikers (no, I don’t count Ameobi).
Finally, though, some comic relief. French über-**** David Ginola, once of this manor, has returned to tell us to drink his pansy piss-poor wine instead of Newcastle Brown. Daveed, are you leeseneeing? I shall say zees only wance:
****. OFF.
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