You may not know me, but I know your type old girl and I trust it’s convenient for me to share a few thoughts with you.
I have to say that your, ‘I want to play Champions League football for Chelsea’ routine really hit me like a bucket of iced water. It’s not that I thought you were incapable of such despicable thoughts or deeds. It’s just that I care, but – and I have to add – crucially not specifically about you.
Lord no, we’ve seen it all before, heard it all before. You see it’s not a particularly sophisticated or cunning plan. Proof being Wayne Rooney. A troglodyte with a IQ in double digits pulled it on his employers too. The rogue!
We even had some rat faced Baldgarian son of a convicted rapist that used to work here – he did essentially the same stunt. So your newly acquired pals at Second Hand Fridge haven’t exactly got you blazing a trail that has stunned anyone – originality wise – anyway.
I digress. This is all about you, after all. Your hopes, dreams and desires. I simply wanted to say I wish you well. All the best. May the road rise to meet you, may the wind be always at your back. May God hold you in the palm of his hand. All that sort of thing.
But please don’t delude yourself that you hold the respect of anyone.
I am not like you. Please! I hasten to add I’m not some ‘crackpot’ who believes himself ‘superior’ to you in some hair brained value system that I hold. But I do want you just to know that I’m different. I’m in deep. And I freely acknowledge I don’t expect you to grasp, be remotely interested or otherwise any of it. I simply want you to know that we’re not the same.
You know that shirt you’ve been pulling on – and if I might take the opportunity to say – have done some bloody sterling work in …it’s mine, mush.
You’ve only ever been a custodian of my shirt. You’ve only ever been passing through. There were men before you that wore my shirt and there will be men after you that wear my shirt.
You have expressed a desire to return the shirt to me and head for the brighter lights of the old Cheatski Party. That’s not a problem. You’re a column entry in spreadsheet. You’re a guy who used to park his car in a certain spot.
What you will never again be Luka my old mukka is respected. By anyone.
Pat Jennings left us to go to Arsenal. On paper, a heinous crime. But he conducted himself in a manner that you have demonstrated to be …well, beyond you.
I was brought up by the best. The very cream. And names like Nicholson, Blanchflower, Greaves (and there are far too many more to sensibly list) would be devalued by association with a player that was unprepared to nail his colours to our mast.
In the the softly spoken words of Malcolm Tucker, “Come the feck in or feck the feck off.” Whatever you decide …I just wanted you to know where you and I stand and that is with the world seeing you for precisely what you are.
Your comments previously about your time in my shirt to date? Well, they lacked … understanding.
There are many words for men who accept money in exchange for ‘goods and services’ provided. I chose mercenary as it didn’t distract from the facts.
Io fei gibetto de le mei case, mush. Io fei gibetto de le mei case.
BIOYC! +mini bar