Alas, the axe has fallen on my A Week In The Life Of… (AWITLO) column which I’ve written weekly for The Sun on Sunday since 2015. Budgets are tight even on the biggest of national newspapers these days.
I’ve imagined being Jose Mourinho and Pep Guardiola several times; unpleasant types such as Margaret Court and Richard Kilty, the latter sending me nasty messages in response; genuine heroes of mine such as Greg Rutherford and Lizzy Yarnold, whom I was scared stiff of offending; and downright silly ‘uns like Valegro the horse, a moth who invaded the pitch at the Euro 2016 final and, erm, the statue of Christ the Redeemer.
Some have been funnier than others, admittedly – Diego Costa and a Sliding Doors version of Sam Allardyce in (ironically) my final column have got the best feedback, while my Moussa Sissoko column went viral among Geordies.
Thanks to Shaun Custis for giving me the opportunity; James Brown and Martin Lipton for their continued backing; Ian Pope, who got it off to a flier with his contributed funnies in the early days; the page builders for tweaking the layout every week to get most of my words in; and the subs who subbed it (particularly those that didn’t cut off the punchlines to jokes and those who didn’t proclaim loudly that it was “total dogshit” or “too highbrow” because I referenced Zoolander).
Thanks to all of the sports stars I have lampooned, with special mention to BDO darts star Darryl Fitton for taking it in the spirit it was intended.
And thanks to everyone who read it… except for Kilty, obviously.
Here are some of my favourite gags from those three and a half years…
CRISTIANO RONALDO (the first ever AWITLO)
LAST night I dreamt I went to Manchester again. Probably why I woke up in a cold sweat/covered in drizzle. I had dinner with Sir Alex Ferguson last week and his words have been playing on my mind.
“Yav gah meld ah fooshin’ rara barturrrh,” he said, after two bottles of Rioja. No idea what he meant.
Absolutely buzzing after our 3-0 win over Newcastle. On the drive home, Black Sabbath’s Paranoid comes on the radio. I notice I’m being followed. I do a couple of sharp turns and manage to lose the vehicle behind me. Later I remember I hadn’t taken the caravan off the car – that’s my summer holiday ruined.
I HOPE you all had a merry Christmas. I am like a kid at heart and still want to believe in that large, enigmatic figure, clad in red, who it seems only delivers once a year. Sure enough, Christian Benteke hits the winner against Leicester today.
THE IOC is taking stick for not giving the Russians a blanket ban. I don’t see why we should have done that. It can get quite chilly at night – and taking away their blankets seems a weird punishment for participating in a state-sponsored doping programme. As far as I’m concerned, they’re innocent until proven… quilty.
Last night, I was woken by someone outside my window serenading me. Imagine my surprise when I open my curtains and see my good pal Vladimir Putin doing his version of a Steve Miller Band classic. He sings: “I’m a joker, I’m a doper, I’m a miiiidnight judoka…”
I’m glad our vote didn’t hurt his feelings.
CHRIST THE REDEEMER
HOLY cow! (Sorry Dad). But the Olympics have come to Rio and they put on one hell – er, I mean heck, (sorry Dad) – of a party last night.
Who do I want to do well at these Games? Well, Team USA for sure. Those dudes freakin’ worship me.
Sure enough, the first gold goes to an American… for shooting. Would have been a shock if it didn’t, to be fair. Dad knows they put in the practice.
YEEHA! I’m delighted to launch my new TV channel, MyOutdoorTV, in the UK. It’s a real game changer – specifically changing game from live to dead. It’s the go-to place for all your wild-animal-slaughtering needs.
I’ve always been a trophy hunter – and, sorry Arsene Wenger, but a couple of FA Cups ain’t gonna cut it. I love seeing walls filled with the heads of dead animals. I even keep a treasured meerkat pelt on my top lip.
My favourites are the different types of antelope – impalas, kudus, gazelles… and you’ll find every big-game hunter has a little dik-dik.
I’M trying to find a meaning to life aside from driving really fast and just being really, really ridiculously good looking.
A friend said I should go vegan. I said: “Dude, I dunno. I mean, Mr Spock is cool ’n all but space travel scares me…”
And he said: “No, I mean switch to a plant-based diet. It shouldn’t be that hard for you, as you’re already a Pescatarian.”
And I said: “Correction, hombre, I’m a Catholic.”
WHAT an incredible day! I’m Olympic champion in the skeleton… again! There has been much debate about whether funding of £6.5million is excessive for such a niche sport. On the face of it, the critics have a point. Our hi-tech aerodynamic skinsuits are actually just novelty onesies – £22.99 from M&S – with all the fuzzy bits shaved off.
And my sled’s cost? No idea. We just ‘borrowed’ a tray from the canteen.
Most of the money was spent on the computer technology behind the microchip implanted under my skin, which turns me from Elizabeth Yarnold, mild-mannered, middle-class lady from Kent, into THE YARNOLD 3000: A FUTURISTIC, ALL-CONQUERING CYBORG WHO WILL STOP AT NOTHING TO ACHIEVE MY AIMS.
I’M LIKE THE TERMINATOR! CALL ME YARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER!
SAM ALLARDYCE (alternate reality)
I’M a lucky man, I know that. The FA could have sacked me for my, er, indiscretions in 2016. But they gave me a second chance and the decision has been justified as we’re now in the knockout stages of the 2018 World Cup.
I thought nothing would beat the feeling of our 1-0 aggregate win in the qualifying play-off against Ireland (after we’d finished second in our group to Slovakia).
But Harry Kane coming off the bench with ten minutes left to rescue a point against Tunisia was immense – Phil Jagielka was especially grateful after his comical own goal put us behind.
And who can forget us really laying down a marker with two Wayne Rooney penalties in the 3-1 win over Panama?
Losing 3-0 to a Belgian second string was disappointing but fewer yellow cards than the Tunisians means we’re into the last 16. Epic!
Loads of fans are having a go at my run of eight straight defeats but that’s just hypocritical. These are the same people who moaned about other Toon bosses for being inconsistent.
Some dare to say I’ve given Fifa a bad name. What nonsense! Before the 2010 World Cup, I brought in Tokyo Sexwale – and you don’t get many better names than that.
IT’S a day off, so Kim and I go for sushi. I can eat 50 pieces in one sitting. I’m not sure about our local restaurant though. Where we live in Surrey is so middle class, we don’t have a Yo! Sushi, we have an Excuse Me, Would You Mind Awfully? Sushi.
DR EVA CARNEIRO
I AM pretty rattled by Jose’s public criticism of me. He dared to call me “naive”.
I ask John Terry: “You don’t think I’m naive, do you?”
“Course not, Sweetcheeks,” he replies.
“Well, your groin feels fine. I really don’t think you need me to massage it every day.”
“Better safe than sorry,” he winks.
DIEGO shaken by aggro yesterday so go to Peppa Pig World*. Willian said he went there before and it was lots of fun. Only problem is Willian took his kids. Diego yet to meet lady willing to breed and have beast babies so just look a bit creepy.
Man asks if my children want photo with Daddy Pig. Diego gets confused, nervous, angry. Red mist. Diego runs for exit – smash Grampy Rabbit with forearm on my way.
(* yes, he genuinely went to Peppa Pig World)
MY wife Paris and I start the long journey home. It’s long because we’re not flying as Paris is pregnant with our third child – a baby brother or sister for Prince John and Venezuela.
On the ferry, we discuss baby names. It’s difficult but we’ve narrowed it down to Korky the Cat or Whambar for a boy; Polyfilla or the Democratic Republic of Congo for a girl.
GENERAL CHARLES KRULAK
I WAKE at oh-six-hundred hours. Although it’s really oh-five-hundred due to Daylight Savings Time or whatever you limeys call it.
“Rudy Gestede/Alan Hutton”, that’s how I remember it. Springy forward/full-back.
These are dark days at Aston Villa. It started as a noble quest for Randy Lerner and myself. Get Americans in, sort out the mess, that’s what we reckoned. But after initial successes, our intervention has turned into an expensive, protracted and bloody war of attrition. The natives are increasingly hostile and it seems unlikely we will withdraw with any dignity intact.
This is my Vietnam. And I was in goddamned Vietnam.
MARCEL THE MOTH
ZERE eez a party going down in Paris for ze Euro 2016 final. All of my friends are zere and we cause a commotion. Allez les Bleus!
Cristiano Ronaldo eez OK after Dimitri Payet’s tackle but I follow up with a kick to ze forehead and ‘e ‘as to be carried off.
Portugal still win, bah! But now England know what zey ‘ave to do. France’s best player in ze final was a Newcastle midfielder, while ze winner came from a striker who could not make ze grade at Swansea.
Just call up Jack Colback and Danny Graham and you ‘ave ze recipe for success.
CHRIST THE REDEEMER
I’M going to try not to get involved. Dad stuck his oar in for Diego Maradona at the 1986 World Cup and we haven’t heard the end of it.
These days we limit our sporting miracles to things like Leicester winning the title and John Inverdale remaining in gainful employment.
I just want it to be clean – the only thing we want to see athletes test positive for is the Holy Spirit. Amiright, guys?
FIRST big decision today in the French camp. Rice Krispies for breakfast, I think. Yes, I love Rice Krispies. I have my heart set on Rice Krispies. Yum.
After my Frosties, I chat to Hugo Lloris.
“Come join me at Tottenham,” he says.
It is a nice offer but I can’t possibly do that. Not with Arsenal being the club of my heart.
Some people think that’s weird but, actually, it tastes no different to horse cheese.
DUBAI or not Dubai, that was the question. Whether ‘twas nobler in the mind to take the lads warm-weather training or to cancel it once Claudio Ranieri got sacked.
Parting was such sweet sorrow – but uneasy lies the head that wears the crown because the champions are there to be shot at and it’s a results business at the end of the day, Geoff.
The course of defending a Premier League title never did run smooth.
I will never forget bumping into Claudio after he’d heard that he had been stabbed in the back. He looked at me forlornly, and whispered: “Et tu, Craig?”
Tonight, I watch Blue Planet 2. It’s amazing how they send a submarine down into the Marianas Trench.
David Attenborough explains how few people have ever plumbed such depths. Just this camera crew, a handful of scientists and my Sunderland squad.
Got a few headaches about the new pad in Los Angeles. I’ve been stressing out because the main shower room seems really dangerous to me. Luckily, my wife Alex has been great and ordered some extra-safe bathmats online.
This doesn’t f***ing slip now.
I SEE the doctor because I’ve not been able to shake off this cold.
He asks me if I feel “bunged-up” then giggles.
This is outrageous. I demand that he fixes my catarrh problem.
He just shrugs and says: “It’s your own fault for being seduced by their oil money.”
I VOICE my concerns to a member of the backroom staff at the Nike Oregon Project. He tells me they would never advocate the taking of drugs to succeed in athletics. They insist that, to them, the very essence of long-distance running is that everyone – from elite athletes backed by global mega corporations to those from the poorest nations in the world – competes on a level playing field with no unfair advantages.
Then he tells me to stop worrying and get in the multi-million-pound hypoxic chamber or else I’ll miss my 1pm slot on the low-gravity treadmill.
WATCH highlights of games from weekend. Nearly every player dirtier than Diego. Refs don’t notice the grappling, the shoving, the stud-raking. And there is definite handball for late winner by Japan. Oh, hang on… this is rugby.
Then Paloma Faith lady starts singing and Diego blacks out. When Diego wake up, somebody has bitten chunks out of the wall.
IT’S my first game in charge of Newcastle, away to Leicester. My pre-match war cry of “Come on Toons!” is widely mocked.
Not sure why. Silly Toons.
MARCEL THE MOTH
I FEEL very delicate today. At ze final whistle last night I flew down Pepe’s throat and ‘e threw me straight back up. I spend all day sitting on a wall.
I’M very excited about the Game of Thrones finale. With all the insane, power-hungry individuals, the backstabbing, the sense of impending doom and the hordes of attackers walking through a once-impenetrable defence, it’s sometimes nice to forget about my Arsenal troubles and watch some TV about dragons and incest.
EXCITING times at my old club United, as they finally land Alexis Sanchez on £505,000 a week. His grand unveiling features him playing a piano.
His move is not without controversy, though. Someone shouts out: “Do you know your salary is obscene and could pay for more than 1,100 nurses?”
“No,” says Alexis. “But you hum it and I’ll play it.”
KATIE ORMEROD (injury-jinxed snowboarder)
REPORTERS are asking me about how Team GB will do at the Winter Olympics.
“What about speed skating?” they ask.
“Elise Christie will win at least one medal.”
“Our women in particular have a great chance.”
“And what will happen with the skeleton?”
“Well, I expect I’ll chip a couple more bits off it but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
NEWS of my spitting shame has made the front pages. My agent is on the phone, trying to sort damage limitation.
“What you’ve got to do, right,” he says, “is go on Sky News, right? And apologise loads, right?”
So I do. Man, it’s a tough interview – I even get a bit teary-eyed.
“How’d I do?” I ask my agent afterwards.
“I thought you came across as contrite,” he replies.
“What? I thought it went well. And there’s certainly no need for that kind of language.”
I CAN’T deny it, I’m like Marmite, me. By which I mean, if you leave me with my top off in a hot car for more than an hour, it’ll take months to get the yeasty smell out of your upholstery.
My mood improves after a kickabout with Cristiano jnr. Boom! 76-0. I make him wear a Messi shirt and shout: “In your face, midget!” after every goal.
He stomps off crying and whining – that’s my boy!
RETIREMENT does not worry me. I am in talks with a fellow pro about going into business to build a pet-pampering service set in a pirate-themed pub. We’ll call it The Pogba & Drogba Grog Bar Dog Spa.
CHRIST THE REDEEMER
MICHAEL PHELPS keep racking up gold medals in the water – so much so that he’s being called the Greatest Of All Time. Errrr, hello? I could freakin’ RUN past him if I wanted.
Phelps is an advocate of cupping. I’m not sure what that is, although I understand a few priests have got in trouble for that in the past.
MOVING to Manchester has been a disaster. I’d like to go for a walk but I’m trapped in the hotel. I feel like Alan Partridge.
I try to make friends with a Geordie called Michael but he’s a bit simple and I can’t really understand a word he says. That’s a problem, as he’s my most experienced midfielder.
PEOPLE are slating me for my comments about Scottish genetics, saying I’m not big and I’m not clever.
But I’ve spoken with a top-class biologist and we’re going to genetically engineer a squad of superhuman Scots. We’ll start by splicing Leigh Griffiths’ genes with a kangaroo’s, so he can leap higher in the box. We’ll mix Robert Snodgrass’ eye cells with a falcon’s so he can see passes like no other.
And we’ll create an 8ft x 24ft wall-shaped human so that never again will Scottish goalkeepers be the butt of jokes.
It still relies on me not being tactically inept, though, so qualification remains a pipe dream.
QUEUEING for lunch in the training-ground canteen today and Monsieur Mourinho is still ranting about Man City’s lack of respect.
He’s right. I swear, if I ever hear another Oasis song, I’m going to go crazy.
The guy pouring my soup asks: “D’you wanna roll with it?”
“You f***ing what, mate?”
LIZZY YARNOLD/THE YARNOLD 3000
<SYSTEM ERROR 3450://snot/wheezy/headaches>
<RUN:// steam bath>
<GO TO:// bed>
Ugh! Sorry, I’ve been feeling ill all week. It’s amazing I even competed, let alone won.
The doctor says I have a chest infection but I think it’s just a heavy code.
JOE HART’S not even going to be on the standby list for England.
He’s certainly had a rocky season.
By which I mean he’s taken blow after blow and can often be heard screaming “ADRIAAAAAN!”
SAM ALLARDYCE (alternate reality)
IT’S not been the ideal preparation for the biggest game of my career against Colombia. It’s a brutal encounter and Jack Wilshere limps off after 15 minutes. Danny Drinkwater replaces him.
A Kane penalty puts us 1-0 up but Colombia equalise late on. We hold on for penalties despite sub Andy Carroll’s red card for an elbow in extra time…
SO angry to be banned for League Cup game in Walsall that bossman Jose says Diego should be kept in specially built cage. It is probably for the best. They leave me half a dead goat for my tea, though. Yummy!
JIM WHITE (Sky Sports News presenter)
OVER breakfast, I read about Marseille’s bizarre tribute to loan signing Steven Fletcher.
They say: “We have added a Scotsman to the mix. If you know anything about the mentality of that people, you’ll know that’s good news.”
What the hell? Do they really think they can get away with stereotyping a whole nation of people like that?
It’s enough to make me spit my porridge down my tartan pyjamas.
I get home late. Sylvia’s still up and looking hopeful.
“Soooo,” she says expectantly, “they said on the radio that you’d gone for a diamond.”
I chuckle. “No, no, my darling. You’ve misunderstood. It was a bastardised 4-3-3 with Wayne Rooney dropping in as a No10.”
MARCEL THE MOTH
Big Sam Allardyce is tipped for ze England job. I wouldn’t do it if I were him. Leave ze Stadium of Light? Zat place is heaven to a moth.
VALEGRO (Two-time Olympic dressage champion and horse)
POOR Hiroki Ogita, the Japanese pole vaulter. He didn’t qualify for the final because he… well, he knocked the bar down with his penis.
One of the stablehands laughs that Ogita must be wishing he had a smaller willy.
Don’t we all, pal?
MY agent is keen for me to do some damage limitation on daytime TV.
“At the moment, Eric,” he says, moments before I go on air, “our aim is to remind people you are NOT the most obnoxious, reactionary prat on the planet. OK?”
The cameras start rolling. I begin: “Hi Piers, thanks for having me on the show.”
It’s working already!
I have read that Antonio Conte has had great success at Chelsea by getting his players to drink beer to rehydrate straight after a game.
I try the same trick with my players.
“Sorry, boss,” says Yaya Toure, “I can’t drink beer. I am a strict Muslim and cannot touch a drop of alcohol. I’ll just stick to my brandy and Coke.”
“But Yaya, brandy is alcoholic.”
“Oh,” he says. “That puts a new slant on my drink-drive hearing tomorrow.”
AMERICANS tend to love me but there has been a bit of pushback since the presidential election. A lot of people have been saying I shouldn’t have played golf with a deluded megalomaniac lunatic, whose sexist views should be utterly condemned – even if he is one of the most powerful men in the world.
Hey, I’d never condone such comments but when Peter Alliss asks you for a round, you accept.
SAMIR NASRI doth slander Jamie Vardy, calling him “cheat”.
Oh, poor, foolish Samir. Do you not realise he is not a cheat but merely human, like the rest of us?
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you lean in with your forehead, do we not exaggerate massively to get you sent off?
THE spat between Sporting Lisbon and West Ham continues over the alleged tapping-up of William Carvalho. Sporting president Bruno de Carvalho nicknames Hammers co-owners David Sullivan and David Gold ‘the Dildo brothers’, while director of communications Nuno Saraiva called them liars and parasites.
Sullivan has got his lawyers involved, insisting that he and Gold are absolutely NOT brothers.
I wouldn’t be surprised, you know, if Fifa probed that ‘dildo’ remark, especially as they’re looking to punish Dele Alli just for sticking up a finger.
GOODNESS knows we need some good news round here, so I’m delighted when I hear Peter Crouch and Abbey Clancy have had their third child, Jonny. A bouncing baby boy of 8lb 3oz and 5ft 6in.
SAM ALLARDYCE (alternate reality)
THE response to last night’s defeat has been ferocious but I maintain we were absolutely right not to practise penalties. As every other England manager who has lost a World Cup shootout has explained, you simply can’t replicate the atmosphere.
I just feel for the lads who missed – Theo Walcott, Michail Antonio and a clearly unfit Adam Lallana.
The Sun mocks up my face in a big bowl of cocaine with the headline: YOU BLEW IT!
I’m shocked as I catch a glimpse on TV of that beardy American idiot admitting he took bribes ahead of the 1998 and 2010 World Cups. Moron! How can people believe him? He looks like a department store Santa who spends the other 11 months of the year living in adumpster.
He makes me so mad. Aaaaagggghhh! CHUCK BLAZER!! THROW SHIRT!! HURL TROUSERS!!
Before you know it I’m standing there in my underpants being asked to leave the Sports Bar.
I speak to my friend Usain Bolt about good causes.
“So,” I tell him, “after the success of the Mo Farah Foundation, I need a name for my new charity working with cats suffering from hayfever in the capital of Somalia.”
“Hmm, not bad, Usain. Certainly better than my original idea of Pussysniffles.”
DR EVA CARNEIRO has left Chelsea because bossman Jose said mean things about her. Diego miss pretty doctor. She gave Diego special medicine to keep my rage down and was nice to Diego even though I bit her once and she had to get a rabies shot.
MY girlfriend is fed up with my miserable mood. She’s never been pleased that I work with such beautiful women as Natalie, Kate Abdo and Kirsty Gallagher. And she’s been watching Breaking Bad so now thinks the reason I have two phones is because I’m either alove cheat or a drug dealer.
“It’s just for keeping up to date with all the breaking deals… honest!” I assure her.
I try to redeem myself by giving her some special Jim White lovin’. Unfortunately, I ruin it by shouting “THIS JUST IN!” at a critical juncture.
GUTTED to hear about Prince. I was a big fan. He came to see me at Wembley before our FA Cup final in May.
He told me I didn’t need to be rich to be his girl and I didn’t need to be cool to rule his world. He said there wasn’t a particular sign he was more compatible with. He just wanted the score to be level at 90 minutes and my… kiss.
I GO out with my wife Vikki for a celebratory meal. But she soon regrets asking me to hurry up when choosing something off the menu. I panic and order peas.
Can you imagine?
After each one, I have to walk around the table, working out which pea is in the best position for me to eat next. We are asked to leave at 3am.
I’ve got a very serious problem, actually.
GEN CHARLES KRULAK
I’M on friendly terms with lots of celebrity Villa fans. Only last night, for instance, I went out drinking with the UK’s premier grindcore death metal band. I ended up crashing at Barney Greenway’s house with the rest of the boys and wake up in a room stinking of beer, cigarettes and flatulence.
Not many 74-year-old ex-Marines would enjoy this – but I love the smell of Napalm Death in the morning.
MARCEL THE MOTH
A DISASTROUS day. I fly to Ventoux for ze Tour de France.
Alas, I fly into the face of a motorcyclist, he brakes sharply and it causes mayhem behind.
I only got so close because I liked the look of Chris Froome’s Yellow Jersey. Nom nom nom!
THAT film company I invested in is in big tax trouble and needs its backers to cough up £454million. I leave my meeting with my bank manager very upset. Not because of the money but because he kept going on about me facing a massive penalty.
I have one of my flashbacks. “FOR GOD’S SAKE, MAN, IT WAS 1996! CAN’T YOU LET IT GO?”
Yaya is in court today. He pleads with me: “Boss, please, you have to write me a character reference. It’s my best chance of getting cleared, according to my defence lawyer.”
“Your what lawyer?”
“No, you lost me…”
THE fans are giving me real flak. But this is what you get with Payet, Dimitri Payet. I just don’t think they understand.
Karren Brady tells me I’m a disgrace because it was only in September I was given a £1m loyalty bonus.
“Nah,” I explain, “that was a ROYALTY bonus. Royalty. Because everyone at the club thinks I’m a king.”
“No, it was definitely ‘loyalty’.”
“Don’t think so. I mean, that’s not even a word, is it? Not one I recognise anyway.”
“It was a loyalty bonus. Pay it back.”
“Can’t. Already spent it on a diamond-encrusted crown.”
DAVID LUIZ is a top geezer. He tells me he’s going to buy everyone at the club an expensive gift for winning the title – even Roman Abramovich!
“That’s a lovely thought,” I say. “But what do you get the man who already has everything? What the hell do you think you can get Mr Abramovich that he doesn’t already own?”
David replies: “A special key made from a meteorite, 600million years older than the Earth itself.”
Fair play to the guy, I think he might have nailed it.
MARTINA NAVRAILOVA calls me a bigot. But the fact tennis is full of lesbians is all her fault. Back in the day, there were only a couple.
Then Martina took some of the girls to parties, Billie Jean King played k.d. lang songs in the dressing room and it snowballed from there.
You might say you can’t turn someone into a lesbian but I had a lucky escape when Billie Jean showed me that Brookside episode with Anna Friel. I felt a definite, sinful tingling in my foo-foo but I ran from that room and never went back.
I LEAVE the manager’s post by mutual consent. We fell just short and the job was too big for me. Also, my mad scientist friend has walked out on our project over creative differences. Wouldn’t be a problem but we’d already started.
Leigh Griffiths is raging. Not sure why. A pouch is very useful. He just needs time to get used to it.
ANDY CARROLL announces he’s called his newborn son Wolf Nine. He’s a bit defensive when we take the mick out of him.
He says: “What? I’m only following in the footsteps of other celebrities. David Beckham called his little girl Harper Seven, and Aerosmith singer Steven Tyler’s daughter is called Fifty-Four.”
“No, Andy, it’s Liv. Not Roman numerals.”
ANOTHER sad loss yesterday as Dr Stephen Hawking died. I played against him in a charity match once, believe it or not. And he was really good.
OK, he wasn’t the quickest but he had an amazing football brain – like literally the size of a football.
And when he was on the ball, nobody could work out how he had so much time and space.
SAM ALLARDYCE (alternate reality)
WE arrive back in Heathrow with the UK entering its third day of riots. I suppose there was a small possibility a decent World Cup showing could have gone some way towards uniting a country divided by Brexit and a hundred other things, but our pitiful displays have instead lit the fuse on the powderkeg.
Theresa May imposes martial law and a 7pm curfew. The pound drops 30 per cent. And my local runs out of draught Stella. NOOOOOOOOOO!
IT SEEMS I’ve caused quite the brouhaha by saying that if women really want to play a round of golf at Muirfield, they should marry a member.
I apologise and retract my statement. Of course, ladies, you needn’t marry a member. Letting them have a quick fumble in the club shop should suffice.
CHRIST THE REDEEMER
SHOCKED to hear that Heather Stanning and Helen Glover have been embroiled in a race row.
Ah, no, “row race”. As you were.
LIKE all Eetalians, I am an ‘opeless romanteec. I am already writing my Valentine’s Day card to my one true love. How’s thees for a poem?
Roses are red
Our home shirt is blue;
Come back, N’Golo,
We’re shit without you.
I’M friendly with Patrice Evra, as we spent two years together at Juventus, so I shouldn’t really comment on what happened before his side’s Europa League game last night. But in case you missed it:
My Evra buddy was kung-fu fighting,
That kick was fast as lightning.
For the fan it was a little bit frightening.
Marseille now regret him signing.
IT certainly looks like Sunderland will be going down this season. David Moyes looks haunted. But then that’s just his face.
I wonder whether being vegan is enough. Maybe I should try the paleo diet. I think I could manage being a caveman – after all, I’ve been carrying this club for two years.
WHEN I joined Huddersfield, the players did not believe we would ever find ourselves in the position we are in now. I simply told them they should have “no limits”.
This has had an excellent effect on all the players, with the exception of Dean Whitehead, who already had nine points on his driving licence.
David Luiz is looking upset. He’s seen the 4.9billion-year-old meteorite key on ebay. Turns out Mr Abramovich already had three.
SAM ALLARDYCE (alternate reality)
THE FA phone me. I’m sacked. “Good luck finding someone who’d do any better with that mob,” I tell them.
They’re giving the job to Gareth Southgate. What a joke!
I close my door on the blazing police cars and sound of army guns firing rubber bullets at the marauding hordes, then I pour myself a pint of Pinot.
It’s Colombia v Germany tonight but I can’t watch. I just stick on my Sliding Doors DVD instead.