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Arsehole United
As many of you already know, I have never been involved in the field of javelin coaching, but I can spot a tosser whenever I see one. For reasons as yet unexplained, the Premier League has more than its fair share.
As an interesting experiment (and I use the word ‘interesting’ in its loosest possible sense), I’ve decided to put together a dream-team of these footballing pariahs. I’m sure you’ll all agree, it’s the most disgusting collection of arseholes since Michael Barrymore invited a few friends over for a quick swim.
Between the sticks, it has to be David James. The guy claims to be an environmentalist, an art-lover and a tortured intellectual. If he was that clever, he wouldn’t come across as such a twat.
The left back is literally a no-brainer; it’s Ashley ‘phone in the hole’ Cole. He’s a money-obsessed scumbag and he’s had his ring kissed more than the Pope.
At centre back, it’s John Terry. He’s so right-wing, he won’t even eat black forest gateau.
Joining Terry in the centre of defence is Rio Ferdinand. He’s made it into the bad-boy eleven, just for the crack.
Right back has to be Gary Neville, undoubtedly the busiest tool since Kate McCann’s shovel.
Playing in the centre of a three-man midfield is big fat tubby mess Frank Lampard. You don’t get much lower than kicking your bint and kids into a council flat while you live the high life in your mansion, drinking champagne and snorting steak and kidney pies off Martin Samuel’s sweaty chest.
To the left of Frank (if there’s enough room) is Lee Bowyer. This caveman stands alongside Terry in the race relations department and has previous for attacking staff in fast food restaurants. Ever since that horrific incident, the McFlurry machine has been out of bounds for a shell-shocked Tim Lovejoy.
On the right of the midfield trio is Steven Gerrard. He’s such an arsehole that he refers to himself as ‘Stevie G’. The ‘G’ presumably stands for ‘gravity’ as he’s always falling down.
Playing in the hole behind the front two is Wayne Rooney. He’s a millionaire yet he paid £45 for sex with a pensioner. Times were harder back then for Helen Chamberlain.
Leading the line is Emmanuel Adebayor. He’s such a knob that his Togolese teammates were on the verge of being executed just for being associated with him. A harsh but understandable decision from the gunmen.
Alongside Adebayor is El Hadji Diouf. Like I said to Wayne Bridge’s bint last night, spitting is unacceptable.
In a team full of ghastly low-lifes, you have to really stand out to be made captain, so the armband goes to the swollen arm of Frank Lampard. We get it Frank, your mom’s dead; let’s move on with a bit of dignity.
A team this nasty deserves equally despicable substitutes, so I had to pick Jamie Carragher. Unfortunately, upon hearing that he hadn’t made the starting eleven, he’s withdrawn from the squad.
Making the bench are now Petr Cech for showing off his helmet, Didier Drogba for his girly whining, Craig Bellamy for his bint-beating, Phil Neville for being related to Gary and Darren Fletcher for being Scottish.
We’ll have to have a real slimeball of a manager, so it’s got to be Harry ‘the backhand’ Redknapp. I’m not suggesting that Harry’s a wrong-un, but Nintendo have just released a football game that is so realistic, Harry’s wearing handcuffs.
The owners are undoubtedly David Sullivan and David Gold. I haven’t seen such an atrocious pair of tits since I woke up next to Peaches Geldof.
I’m sure you would agree that Arsehole United are a formidable team, proving beyond doubt that in order to get ahead in the world of football, you have to be a dirtbag. Or on the other hand, it almost certainly doesn’t.
