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not so mellow capello fellow
Friday 14th December 2007 11:51 PM
If you're the sort of Rory blogwatcher, who in these times of rampant global injustice, finds it frustrating when I write about football, then I'm sorry, but I make no apologies about doing it again. Sorry. If you don't want to know the latest score on the England manager, then look away now, or if it's being read to you, stick your fingers in your ears and shout 'Na na na narny na' very loudly.
I predict that Fabio Capello's spell of management with England will be brief, and end in tears. His expressed admiration for General Franco, Hitler, the Yorkshire ripper and Davros, head of the Daleks, is a worrying sign. English footballers are about power and passion, and as only about three of them have got the level of technique that Fabio is used to working with, I think he'll struggle, and when he struggles I fear he'll resort to the tactics of his heroes, and start exterminating people.
The England manager's job is of massive symbolic importance to the psyche of the nation, especially in the lower chakras, and since they've given the job to an Italian, I feel sexually humiliated. After the flaccid impotence of Steve Maclaren, I was excited by the possibility of the moist vacancy being filled by a tumescent Harry Redknapp, or some other outstanding English member, but instead find myself being cuckolded by some Mediterranean, jut-jawed Mussolini-alike.
I don't want you to think there's any racism going on here. While I believe that sunshine and an olive oil-rich diet can lead to an excess of energy, that can easily become violent extremism, (as opposed to the mere grumpy stoicism that you get with rain and potatoes), it goes without saying that I think many Italians are absolutely gorgeous, including Gina Lollibrigida, Gianfranco Zola, 'thunder and lightning, very, very frightening' Galileo Galileo, and, of course, Garibaldi biscuits. I've also heard that Fabio's got two brothers, Coolio and Groovio, who are apparently a bit more laid-back than him.
Steve Coppel(o), as a choice, would have been fine with me. As first name on the team sheet for Manchester United and England for many seasons, he would have commanded the instant respect of the players, and I believe the fact that he's got the mannerisms, complexion and facial features of a tortoise, indicates a deep, underlying reptilian wisdom, that we haven't seen since the days of Alf Ramsey.
One other obvious candidate, who's English, and had success at international level, is Hope Kelly, the England women's team manager. She's certainly got more tactical nous than most, and, except for Kevin Keegan in his pomp, by far the curliest hair.
The English candidates have got so much to bring to the table. Stuart Pierce has got experience with the under-21's, passion and mad eyes, Sam Allardyce has got big jowels, Alan Curbishley's got a quizzical smile, Gareth Southgate's got a beautiful soul, Gary Megson's got ginger hair, a dog's got his bone in the alley, a cat's got nine lives, a millionaire's got a million dollars, King Saud's got 400 wives, and Alan Shearer's got a tell-tale dimple of determination on his chin, that tells me if he'd been offered the job, he'd have done really great. Steve Bruce, Ron Atkinson, Carlton Palmer, Sammy Lee. As Hovis Presley would have said, the end is listless.
Comments
Maybe there are no comments because you're writing about football again, Rory. Have you thought of that? (although I confess I enjoyed this despite myself) (especially the sexual analogies)(validation word animal...)
Posted by overseas reader , on Sunday 23rd December 2007, 8:18 PM
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