Erling Haaland has made Manchester City worse and if you disagree you’re about as wrong as the texts Jermaine Jenas sends to his colleagues.
Viking Ents like him are great when you’re 3-0 up against Luton, but when the going’s tougher than Duncan Ferguson’s knuckles he’s about as pointless as Arne Slot’s shower cap.
All Haaland does is aimlessly float around the box with a stiffened look on his face, like a discarded blow-up doll, while his team-mates play a game of football near him. Honestly, he’s about as good a fit in a Pep Guardiola team as Sean Dyche is on a Chanel catwalk.
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Bore off, anti-humour dweebs
One thing about modern life that I hate more than David Coote hates Jurgen Klopp is the endless, incessant pearl-clutching of the permanently-offended masses. Case in point: the reaction to Guardiola’s self-harm joke – a joke so tame it makes Michael Owen look like Ricky Gervais.
In case you missed it, Pep went full mad scientist and scratched his own face after City’s implosion vs Feyenoord, then joked to reporters he’d done it because he “wanted to hurt himself”.
Cue a mob of self-appointed moral guardians clutching their cyber pitchforks, accusing him of trivialising a serious issue. I mean what a load of Wayne Rooney’s managerial career… sorry, I mean garbage.
Pep Guardiola
Pep Guardiola made light of the visible scratch on his nose (Image: YouTube/TNT Sports)
He then had to issue a grovelling apology – because apparently, the world has forgotten what sarcasm is. What’s next, five lashes for anyone referring to Monday mornings as “torture”?
Humour is a great way to process stress and frustration, and the oversensitive prats who can’t – or won’t – understand that need to sod off more than that Thogden bloke does.
Bizarre Bellingham boo-boys
I’m about to do something that feels as unnatural to me as saying something insightful does to Lee Dixon: stick up for Jude Bellingham. Well, sort of. I’m not exactly sticking up for him. I’m just calling out the entitled, narcissistic muppets who booed that entitled, narcissistic muppet every time he touched the ball against Liverpool at Anfield last week.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of Bellingham hate more than Reece James loves a hamstring strain. But still, it was clownery, the sort of clownery that makes paying £82million for Antony look rational.
Why did they boo him, you ask? Well, because he didn’t sign for them last year. That’s it. Not because of something he said, or something he did. But because he decided to live in Madrid rather than Merseyside, which, frankly, is about as surprising as Micah Richards finding something amusing.
What makes it all the weirder is that Liverpool never bid for him. Imagine abusing a player your club didn’t even officially try to sign. That’s like moaning about a girl not dating you after you forgot to ask her out.