It's time to come clean. All of us. We need to stand under the shower of truth and allow the cleansing water to wash away the filthy lies and delusions from our bodies. The stench has become unbearable. We have walked the streets alone far too long, pretending and fooling ourselves that the empire of dust we worship has the foundations to aid us in reaching the heavens. Our faith, corrupted. Our hopes evaporated. The dust, blown away by the wind.
All this time, we whispered words that had no meaning. And now, these words, no longer twisted, stare back at us, taunting, as clear as the sun in the sky on a summers day. And there is nowhere to run to escape the chants.
We. Were. Wrong.
We. Made. A. Mistake.
He's. Better. Than. Sandra.
We should never have sold him.
Saturday 3rd April. The Stadium of Light. 3pm Kick-off. Sunderland v Tottenham Hotspur.
A team of Spurs rejects, led by another reject. Darren Bent. 21 goals. Goal machine. Defoe? Take away the five he scored against Wigan and he's lagging embarrassingly behind. Bent a reject? I think not. A man on a mission. Focused. Able to adapt to his surroundings and make it work in his favour. Who else can cunningly use a beach-ball to trick an opposition keeper? Defoe is nothing more than a loyal friend of the offside flag.
We took £10M+ for Bent and gave him away to Sunderland. Just because he shared his soul via Twitter. That's like paying a hit man tuppence to shoot you in the face twice (he might miss the first time round). Twelve yards requires a sniper rifle. Point blank, and he'll find his target.
Another nail in the Champions League coffin. Hammered into place by the hands of Daniel Levy, guided by the screams of Harry Redknapp.
There used to be a football club here.