Musings on WAGS, Defoe and a public apology to Alan

 

Everyone's banging Danielle Lloyd. Sorry, I meant banging on about her. And why not? Bit of leg and cleavage thrown in with a slice of football is always acceptable. It's the foundation for most tabloid picture exclusives. They love a WAG. Makes me wonder whether I would if I was a pro-footballer. Where would I socialise? What type of girl would I attempt to pull? And what club would I be escorted out of at 4am in the morning? Fat Frank apparently left with two girls the other night after an evenings boozing in celebration of his teams Champions League win. Not one, but two. His beautiful ex was out with John Terry and his wife for something a little more traditional. But not Fwank. Two birds? Two lush looking birds? That usually costs me £120. £160 with extras.

I guess earning thousands per week and being famous equates to easy pick-ups.

'Yes, yes, it's me off the telly...What's that? Of course I'll let you prostitute yourself for some alone time with me....by alone, I mean you, me and your fit mate'.

Who would have thought it. But this type of lark happens at every pay level, not just with the rich and famous. Men are men and women are women. There are simply different class levels of acceptance from one person to the next, depending on your own standards and social standing. You wouldn't catch Danielle Lloyd in your local Wetherspoons pub giving the eye to Terry the plumber. Although they would probably be a match made in heaven. Fact is, when the shops close and the credit card is placed back in the wallet, in the end you still get your end away. You still have to do the boring bit that goes in-between of all the glam and gloss and superficial stuff. You know, the actual relationship part of it. Yawn. Ronaldo has the right idea. He doesn't even opt for high class escort girls. Any type will do. No need to stand there and smile and mutter 'Yes babe, those Choos look fierce, get another pair if you want'.'Pick the phone up, make a booking. Job done. Even invite your mates rounds. You can even share.

Hmm. Maybe I got this all wrong. Apart from the shopping there is no difference.

If I was a footballer, I'm not sure I'd be asked with all the flash photography and textbook 'look at me leaving a nightclub I'm flushed' Heat magazine bollocks. I'd prefer to just flush my money down the toilet and take a trip through the Channel Tunnel. Reckon that's more or less the same experience as dating Miss Lloyd.

JD is back in training. I'm excited. Just what we need for the run-in to help consolidate a top half finish. Probably won't figure in Sundays clash with Newcastle. Which is acceptable considering he's only just returned to full training. Might not be match-fit (for a 90 minute appearance) but could come off the bench and zip around with purpose and some of that much missed blistering fox in the box movement. The press and Harry suggest he won't play, but that might be kidology in play. Not that its a do or die game for us in the same way it is for Shearer's lot. Talking of which, Mark Viduka is back for them. Ominous stuff.

More ominous are the stats that show Newcastle victorious in the previous six (league) games against us. 2005 was the last time we tasted the sweet taste of success. Maybe I was a little to hasty and arrogant with the 'Let's Relegate Newcastle' article last week.

I've had a conversation with Max Clifford. Hasn't everybody? Talking of which, 'Nicky' the anti-capitalist, who was assaulted by the copper hires PR to charge for interviews so she can make money out of it. Maybe she had the sense of irony slapped out of her? I guess the blatant hypocrisy has made me re-think things, so, here goes...


APOLOGY

I am writing about my recent blog article 'Let's Relegate Newcastle' and the proposal I put forward to end Newcastle and see them relegated from the Premiership based on my misconceived assumption that Alan Shearer epitomises supreme smugness.

I am assuring you all that this was in no way meant to offend and as the only person involved I had full knowledge of involvement in this attempt to fish for reactions that still remain the subject of current discussion, and I have already taken responsibility for acting on this - first by accepting my own resignation from my blog and by making it clear to all concerned that such actions have no part to play in the realm of football banter. I have also written personally to Alan Shearer and those who were subject to these unsubstantiated claims that Newcastle deserve to drop down a league based on my wanting to avoid Alan's return to tv on Match of the Day next season as a genuine 'messiah' and a Mike Ashley masterstroke having saved them from the drop. On reflection I will simply not watch Match of the Day when it returns for the 2010 season when Alan is scheduled to appear.

I'm apologising and I'm doing so unreservedly. WBA, Stoke and Hull are more deserving of relegation and now hope that no matter the score on Sunday, United do not go down. But it is also important to make sure such behaviour does not happen again. Any activity such as this that affects the reputation of blogs is a matter of great importance to me and I am ready to take whatever action is necessary to improve relations with the Georide nation. I propose I stand in the away end on Sunday in a Sunderland shirt.

Like the overwhelming majority of writers who hide behind an IP address across the world wide web, I entered the field of blogging because of a sense of duty to my ego and to improve the lives and opportunities of those less fortunate than me that prefer to worship at the church of Sky Sports News. My undivided focus as an online persona is acting to make sure any future blog articles are fairer, safer and more prosperous and, in particular, on guiding the Tottenham fans through the current rivalry difficulties and concentrating on our own problems and not the problems of others. The footballing public would expect no less and would also expect the highest possible standards from all their bloggers - regardless of club supported - and those who follow them.


Yours Sincerely,

Spooky