Well I’m not braggin’ babe so don’t put me down/But I’ve got the fastest set of wheels in town/When something comes up to me he don’t even try/Cause if it had a set of wings man I know she could fly
Before Rafa Benitez indulged in his scribbled postcard ‘facts’ riff, things looked a little tasty for Manchester United. If Liverpool beat Stoke then the pressure was on and squeaky bum time would have been less of a squeak than a prolonged wiping session. Of course, Liverpool fouled it up in a manner that – in retrospect – just seems very Liverpool. Manchester City played Stoke at the weekend, and before then Patrick Vieira was engaged to dabble in some provocation, calling Manchester United desperate. Alex Ferguson wiped the floor with him. Not because Ferguson was on particularly devastating form, but because Vieira’s attempt was so lacklustre that even Lenny Kravitz would have been able to rebuff it. City fouled it up at Stoke, and Manchester United have pissing distance between them and City. Here’s a lesson: there’s nothing wrong with mind games. Arsene Wenger gave some pretty good lines, and Ferguson rarely engaged Mourinho out of a mixture of respect and fear. If you do it properly, go for it. If you’re playing Stoke away, while on a diabolical run of away form, leave it: it ain’t worth it.
Fuck us, we’ve just discovered that there’s to be an Underage Sex and the City. Now, despite featuring four of the least tolerable characters ever created, it’d be idiotic to dismiss the original as simple nonsense, though it frequently displayed much of both. But the obsession with defiling its corpse illustrates much of what is wrong with contemporary culture. How many new films and shows might be made with the money, and how much money might be spent watching them, if suits weren’t so obsessed with necrophiliac money shots?