Spinderella cut it up one time.
As Queen Elizabeth II tries to overcome the grief of commemorating the 60th anniversary of her father’s death, let’s give her fair praise. Getting over the death of a father must be impossibly hard, even if you are a financial and political parasite bent on small and large C conservatism. It must be hard to bear knowing you can never speak to him again, sobbing over the mouthfuls of swan, sniffing while someone puts toothpaste on your toothbrush, swilling gin after gin to get back to mental strength. We’re always told that the royal family costs each Briton less than a pound a year. I’d rather have the small change than indulge this rabble. If this were a civilised country they’d either have their heads on poles or, in our merciful nature, be in prison until their hard labour paid off their enormous debt to the country.
Bringing back Paul Scholes was an appallingly desperate measure, but what a treat. After spending the final stages of his career controlling games from just in front of the back-four, in these final final stages he’s back where he should have always been, constructing and revealing attacks around the opposition penalty box. His deftness of touch and clarity of vision call to mind all the lines that describe him so beautifully: sat nav, playing with the lights on, passes that tell you where to go - one of few genuine joys in a black sport in a black world.
Fabio Capello reckons John Terry should still be England captain; fine, he’s entitled to his opinion. But announcing it once he’s not? Why, it’s almost as though he wants out before a final embarrassment, flush with even more millons in severance pay. I just don’t get it.
Photo courtesy of Well Offside