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Being a Manchester United supporter these days can be pretty tiresome. The side-passes are starting to reach hypnotic levels, with several insomniacs reportedly becoming fans to enter the Theatre of ‘Dreams’.
The players at Old Trafford are suffering from a crisis of identity (“Maybe I was always meant to be a butcher,” Wazza was found pondering on a lonely Monday morning at the Stretford end), except the defenders, who have come to believe they need to take more shots on their own goal.
When asked how that will help in winning matches, Phil Jones is claimed to have replied: “It’s the philosophy. Soon, our opponents will realize how beautiful the game is, and will start shooting at their own goal themselves.” All this while, Ryan Giggs looked on with that now-forever-present nonplussed look- “I think I’m being fooled, not quite sure how..”
As if all this was not enough, the Old Trafford faithful will have to contend with another transfer window. Yes, folks, it’s that dreaded exciting time of year again: when every player who is a striker, defender or ‘pacey’ is linked to Man United, only to find their desired suitors or sign improved contracts.
The Red Devils, it seems, have become the ideal bait for flirtations between player and club: “You don’t want me? Fine. I know Woodward does!”
Some people in football, though, are still old-school. They prefer to nurture their courtship transfer rumor and let it take its course.
Story of a transfer rumour
The agent of a player ‘lets it slip’ in the company of a fan that his client is not happy at his current club. “The food menu is simply not good enough,” he says, adding, “the fish curry was rather loose for him.”
The fan returns home, laughing with his wife about what spoilt brats footballers are. Except, his 15-year old son overhears the conversation and the lad clearly isn’t impressed- “Rather loose for him? What does he mean ‘rather lose for him?!’ “
The son goes to discuss this grave situation with his best pal, a FIFA 16 expert no less. “The player is not being played in the right position,” the expert explains, “He should be CM, not CAM, otherwise his rating drops and morale turns from green to yellow. Every ‘Mr Manager’ knows this!”
The son is now furious – he never liked the manager anyway (“He talks offensively, why can’t he play offensively too?”). He takes to social media – he is not known as a Twitter ‘ITK’ for nothing – and tweets to his 108,000 followers that the player he so loves would rather lose for the manager he so hates.
One of the followers is a journalist from a ‘reputed daily’ who considers the son to be a ‘credible source.’ (“God knows I have a job because of this guy. I wish him health and good luck every morning.”) He reads the tweet, and cannot believe his eyes: this could be his big break, his Michelangelo, his masterpiece!
His head is, by now, spinning with the possibilities. He remembers the day he went to get an interview from this player and ended up stalking his wife. “She did not look too happy with the variety at the Victoria’s Secret outlet; maybe she’s not settled in this country.” As we all know, WAGs are the biggest transfer agents.
He hurriedly compiles a report and shows it to his boss. “Hmm, impressive..” the boss muses from behind a king-size burger, “Get it on the front page of the evening edition, photoshop another club’s jersey on the player and make the heading CAPITAL so that everyone within a 1-mile radius can see. Also, do not forget to put a picture of the player leaving the training ground in his car – reminds people of Beckham and Ferguson.
The journalist gets a pat on the back while going out. “Good job. Keep up the ‘reporting.’“
News of player’s ‘unrest’ breaks out that evening, with fans all over the country drinking and fighting over it in pubs. The daily was sold out and the son was vindicated- “I knew it!”
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away (figuratively, at least), the player looks pensively at his agent.
“Are you sure I will get an improved contract?” he asks, sheepishly adding, “I have not been playing well this season.”
“Not to worry, my dear” replies the agent, reclining his chair and lighting up a cigar, a look of contentment on his face.
“We are getting paid, big-time.”
