IT’S that time of the week again, the Internet, where I take a look at some of the mad stuff that has been going on in the world of football this week and do some sentences about it all. If you missed the inaugural edition last week, get on it.

With it being the international break it’s been a bit more of struggle to find stuff to feel the full force of my personal brand of piss-takery, but I’ve had a quick go over Twitter and come across the following. Try and use this few minutes of reading to stop being apprehensive about Manchester United on Monday.

Sammarinese Delight

Perennial minnows San Marino provided the highlight of the international break as they scored their first away goal in 15 years of World Cup Qualifying, leading to celebrations involving every single player in the squad and all the staff dancing and jumping in jubilation on the pitch. It. Went. Off.

The lowest ranked UEFA member netted through Enzo Stefanelli early in the second half against Norway to level the game at 1-1 and were 13 minutes away from securing one of the greatest results in their history, before the fear of ultimate embarrassment overcame the Norwegians and they finally secured a 4-1 victory.

Imagine the feeling. These are men who unblock pipes and work in warehouses most of the time and likely train on gravel in the middle of an industrial estate. They are routinely spanked year in, year out by the great, the good, and the not-so-good of Europe. They are dog shit, basically.

And they scored a goal. This fan account was raucously delighted, and rightly so.

I have often considered alternative career paths if my current ventures and degree don’t work out it in the end, and the possibility which excites me most is moving to San Marino, gaining nationality (which, according to a very brief Google search, can be granted by renouncing any other nationality and providing evidence you reside in San Marino), taking a menial part-time job to sustain myself, turning up to national team training, asking for a game and periodically spending evenings chasing around after the world’s best footballers across this vast continent.

Does anyone know any moving firms who can take all my stuff from Liverpool to San Marino?

Sunday League Leg-Breaker

Now this, everyone, is the physical embodiment of what happens when you go to a football game, at any level, and somebody takes the shouts of: “Straight into these! They’re shite! Hit them early! Smash ‘im!” a bit too seriously.

It’s absolutely glorious, isn’t it? Go on, it watch again.

Note how, through the sheer determination and purposefulness of his stride towards the opposition player, you can tell the lad has quite clearly made his mind up long ago to throw in an absolutely fucking massive slide tackle, and nothing will stop him, not even the fact that the other player has already passed the ball away almost a full second before he makes contact. Staggering.

And then the tackle itself. Oh, the tackle itself. The lad in red and black flies into the air and slams back down onto the grass instantly, like a crash test dummy hitting concrete at 50 miles per hour with no seatbelt on. Poetry.

Then the camera pans to somebody who, you have to assume from the Snapchat caption, is one of his mates, and he absolutely cannot contain himself for laughing and falls to the floor in sheer ecstasy. He drops, overcome by the kind of delight you feel when one of your mates does something so obscenely ludicrous that you know you will be reminding him of it every single day for the rest of his life, until he dies, and then you will tell everyone at his wake as well.

But arguably the best is saved for last. The player on the receiving end of the challenge rises to his feet in a fit rage, frothing with fury that he’s just been a victim of GBH, and fronts up the man who made the challenge. “I am NOT fucking having that”, he’s thinking. “This twat is getting knocked the fuck out.”

And then he sees how much bigger than him the other feller is and skulks away in quiet shame like a dog that has shat on the living room carpet.

Lady Brady Outlines Shady Intentions

West Ham United secured their status as the The World’s Toriest Football Club™ last week as vice-chairman Karen Brady declared that the Hammers had “no culture” before David Gold and David Sullivan took over the club in 2010, and confirmed that the owners are in the process of making a film about the club entitled ‘Iron Men.’

This comes after Brady’s comments at the beginning of the season claiming that re-locating to the Olympic Stadium in Stratford allowed the club to move away from the traditional values they had held before, in turn bestowing upon them the possibility of charging £8 for fish and chips inside the ground. The club even donated £12,500 to the Conservative Party in January this year.

Quite how a club founded by a group of working-class Iron Workers became so Torified is difficult to comprehend.

If Brady – the same bad Tory who was one of 11 millionaires that voted for tax credit cuts in the House of Lords last year – is right West Ham had “no culture” when they were still at Upton Park, what on God’s green Earth was that circle-jerk they had on the pitch at the end of the final game last season all about? Was the motto ‘The West Ham Way’ only thought up six years ago? Bobby Moore lifted the World Cup and robbed that bracelet a damn sight before 2010, that’s for sure.

The link between the title of the Hammers’ film and Margaret Thatcher’s self-adorned nickname/Meryl Streep-starring biopic is too perfect to be accidental and is another horrific symbol of just how gone dang fucked up that football club has become. I am however quite looking forward to the casting announcements – Denzel Washington as Marlon Harewood may well be Oscar-worthy.

Let’s all just hope their awful start continues – all aboard the West Ham United Relegation Train!

The Best Goal of All-Time Has Been Scored And Football Must Now Stop Immediately

Fuck me sideways.

This is, without doubt, the single greatest goal ever scored in a game of Association Football since its invention. Forget Marco van Basten, move over Diego Maradona, calm down about Cristiano Ronaldo, this German Sunday League playing no-mark has outdone them all, and bagged the assist at the same time. I hope you had him triple-captained in your Fantasy League team this week.

His name is Amir Mohra and I am willing to set up a Kickstarter for Liverpool to buy him, if other supporters wish to contribute to the fund. My calculations, performed by watching this video for about an hour straight and repeatedly stating: “Jesus H Christ’, estimate his value at about £73billion. I’m sure I heard Bill Gates is a Red somewhere once, anyone got his number?

First and foremost, the original shot is an absolute belter of a strike. He is allowed far too much time and space but lines it up perfectly and the combination of power and accuracy makes it a tremendous hit. And then the second. Again he is given too much room to watch the ball drop, but the precision of the connection is unreal and the timing is perfect; and there you have it, the best bloody goal ever.

Imagine being the poor goalkeeper here. As the first effort flies over your head before dipping downwards, you arch your back, exhale in resignation and think: “Well that’s that. Fair fucking play. I’m nowhere near that. Ah well, disappointing to lose it late on but no shame in conceding something like that. Go again next week. Can get on with the weekend now. Got to take her the bloody garden centre, haven’t I? Pick up the kids from swimming. Hang on, we kicked-off late today…Was I supposed to pick them up from the baths half an hour ago? Oh shit…Oh sh-”

But then immediately you are interrupted because the balls thwacks back off the bar and towards the edge of the box again.

“Oh bloody hell I thought that was in. Better get back in position. Come on, set yourself. Got to be quick to react.”

It’s all in vain. Mohra lets rip with a shot of such beauty that you know any attempt to save it is futile, throwing yourself to your left-hand side in hope rather than expectation, and landing back on the hard turf feels like a punch in the face. You turn around, look at your teammates and mutter: “For fuck’s sake.”

Absolutely brutal.

An Actual Child Plays for Galatasaray

I get the feeling that a regular feature of this column is going to be the ever-increasing frequency with which professional football clubs are bypassing child labour laws and playing pubescent humans in football matches.

That’s right, if last week’s 13 year-old getting a run out in a Celtic reserve game wasn’t good enough for you, Galatasaray went the whole hog this week and gave a game to 14-year-old Mustafa Kapi with the first team in a friendly.

Kapi entered the fray with a minute to go of the Istanbul outfit’s 2-0 win away to Levski Sofia in Bulgaria last Saturday night, linking up with teammates such as Hamit Altintop, Nigel de Jong and Wesley Sneijder in the process.

Just have a little think about what you were doing at 14. Go on. I’ll give you a few seconds.

Right, let’s have the answers. Playing footie in the park on the weekends with your mates? Trying to impress girls? Just generally being a soft little get?

Whatever you were doing, I can guarantee absolutely none of you were playing professional football for one of the world’s most famous teams. At the age of 14, this kid has achieved the ultimate dream that every single one of us had when we were younger, and possibly still do have if we haven’t quite been able to let go yet. He has achieved a level of success very few of us will ever manage in our lifetimes, and has done it at an age young enough to make you vomit out of sheer jealousy.

In short, Mustafa Kapi has already secured himself a better life than pretty much all of the rest of us ever will and has highlighted the insignificance of our all of our existences.

And isn’t that a lovely note to end on?

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