Richie Jones returns to typically opinionated form with a rallying cry for Tevez to turn to Liverpool.
So in today’s Sun it says that Michael Carrick has “issued a ‘please-don’t-leave-us’ plea to teammate Carlos Tévez,” who apparently has been linked with Liverpool. Now, first I would like to point out that I learned this from the BBC website gossip column as I refuse, on principle, to buy The Sun. That aside, I’m irked by the constant use of corporate and heavily formalised language to describe inter-personal relationships, which just about reaches its worst in football journalism. How exactly does one issue such a plea? I’ve never issued a plea, whether it be ‘please-don’t-leave’, or indeed ‘come-and get-me’. I’ve ran after a soon-to-be-ex girlfriend’s car once, weeping, screaming “please don’t leave me” at the top of my lungs before vomiting, literally in the street. Does that count? I might ring up Kelvin MacKenzie, ask him, then tell him he’s a bastard.
I hope Carrick’s plea falls on deaf ears. I love Tévez. He’s easily my dad’s favourite player too, probably on account of his bewilderment when he ended up at West Ham, his tenacity and work rate, and the fact he has a face like a jacket potato full of marbles. Yes, yes, he was in a house fire as a child, but then only explains the scarring to his neck – that face is pure genetic tomfoolery. Quite how it goes unnoticed that Cristiano Ronaldo is similarly afflicted is surely only because of his height, and his grace on the ball. When trying to pinpoint exactly who Tévez reminds me of, I settled on Super Mario’s age-old nemesis Bowser, but to be honest he could be an end-of-level boss from any Nintendo video game ever. But one that sees the error of his ways by the end, since Carlos is nothing if not a decent-seeming chap, all too rare these days.
Apparently Tévez, Patrice Evra and Park Ji-Sung are bestest buddies (BFF if you will), something which amused Darren Fletcher no end, who wondered aloud – and in print – at what they talk about, considering they are Argentinean, French and Korean respectively (I’m paraphrasing here, obviously) and none of them speak English. Probably about what an ugly, useless berk Darren Fletcher is, I wouldn’t wonder. Presumably Fletcher, Wayne Rooney and John O’Shea sit around conversing about the finer points of pre-Raphaelite sculpture and the current state of fiction in our increasingly commercialised literary landscape. Or maybe they just grunt at each other about boobs while flicking through a copy of Nuts, the mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging troglodytes. Darren seems to miss the point that while English may nominally be their first language, they don’t quite speak the Queen’s do they?
I’m now off for ‘clear-the-air talks’ with my flat mate, who last week ‘blasted’ me for not buying more teabags.
Read more here
- Ode to Prince Scholes (who would never get a rollicking from Richie Jones)
- You may not have heard, but apparently Carrick wants Tevez to STAY
- Should Tevez leave?
Yesterday the shortlist for the 
