MONDAYS get a bad rap, I’d say. Yes, it’s back to work, uni, or school. Yes, it’s difficult mustering the energy to get up out of bed, to scran a bowl of semi-stale supermarket knock-off Coco Pops, and to trundle along Smithdown Road into town on a number 86 Stagecoach full of students wearing over-sized vintage jumpers and absolutely pastied Air Maxes.

But once the beginning part is out of the way, the part where you can almost feel yourself rebooting like a Windows 98 desktop riddled with mad porn viruses, then things aren’t so bad. The weekend is still fresh enough to provide enough of a boost to get through the day, and everybody else is as fatigued and uninterested as you, so very little work gets done.

And Mondays where the Reds score a stoppage-time winner in the derby at Goodison are quite simply the greatest of all the days.

I’m still absolutely buzzing off my tits, here. It’s been ages since Daniel Sturridge scuffed a tame shot against the post and Sadio Mané knocked the rebound over the line, but in the subsequent time I’ve sported a ginormous, intermittent grin thinking about that moment. Thinking about the flares burning on the turf. Thinking about the faces and the heads-in-hands in the Gwladys Street. Thinking about the sheer number of ruined Christmases.

I’d much rather beat them that way than win 10-0. I love that they developed a sense of hope and boisterousness after the first 20, only to have their collective spirit crushed by one of the slowest, crappiest, jammiest goals I’ve ever seen.


Shitty Footie Prezzies

IF you’re like me, in that you’ve bought very little yet and are worried about the possibility of having to queue for almost an hour in a provincial B&M Bargains to pay for crap bits of tat shovelled into the basket with barely a second thought, then there really isn’t very long left at all to get your arse in gear and do something about it.

So, for the football fan in your life, I’m here to help you out. You can’t get away with one of them Danny Dyer’s Footballers Doing Loads of Mad and/or Stupid Shit DVDs in the Year of Our Lord 2016, thus I present to you, the official FBF Christmas gift guide, which only contains one kind of gift because they’re so perfect:

There are few things I truly desire in life. Primarily, I’d like to finish my studies and find work that I enjoy and which allows me to live comfortably. I want my friends and family to live long and healthy lives. Liverpool winning the football league in my lifetime would be decent as well, to be fair.

But, quite frankly, all of that can get straight in the bin now. I didn’t know until I saw this picture, but I need a set of statuettes depicting Barcelona’s Gerard Piqué and his pop-star wife Shakira pulling down their kecks and shitting out perfectly formed walnut-whips more than anything else in the world. I yearn for them. I crave them. I need these figurines like a smackhead needs, well, smack.

Apparently these two are examples of a Catalan nativity scene staple called ‘Caganers’, which are placed in the manger along with the little baby Jesus and the rest of that rabble, to symbolise the fertilisation of the Earth and bring good fortune for the rest of the year.

I’m really not sure why Shakira would be curling one out alongside the three wise men, like, but Whenever, Wherever I suppose… (Wahey!)

They’ve even got Florentino Perez, too. I’ve not got the foggiest as to why he’s wearing a cow onesie, but the surprising detail on the genitalia of the second one demonstrates the simply magnificent level of craftsmanship that has gone into designing and manufacturing these pieces. Although his bellend does look worryingly close to the peak of the turd, truth be told.

Robbing From Rooney

THAT’S right, a man with what I honestly believe to be the worst haircut I have ever seen has tried to burgle Wayne Rooney’s home and subsequently been jailed for nearly three years.

The former soldier drove to Rooney’s home last summer while he played in his testimonial at Old Trafford, and was caught on CCTV stalking the building before trying to gain entry by turning a door handle. Now, I’m no burglar, but if I was going to rob someone’s house I wouldn’t just rock up and try to walk through the front door and give up if it was locked. Seems a bit optimistic to me.

Rooney’s is a probably a bit of a daft one to try, as well. It’s blatantly going to be heavily-monitored, and I’m also not sure the stuff in his house would be worth robbing. His Belgravia Centre loyalty card might be worth nabbing for a follicly-challenged burglar; he’s gone bald about eight times by this point so he must get the ninth transplant free, or something. One of the rooms in the house is definitely a shrine to his hero Whitney Houston too, which would creep me the fuck out, with memorabilia everywhere and the words “Whitney has passed away. RIP u will live on forever. Cant believe it. I wanna run to u. Really cant believe this. @” smeared in blood on the back wall.

Shang-High Wages

NOW, I can’t actually find this tweet in English, so I’m going to attempt to put the degree I’m paying c. £40,000 for to good use and translate it for you, because I’m kind like that.

Carlos Tevez’s Salary in China:

€38,000,000 per year
€730,769 per week
€104,395 per day
€4,349 per hour
€72 per minute
€1.20 per second

I’m not bothering to do the conversions to GBP, though, because I quite like the exoticism of leaving it in Euros, and looking at the exchange rate just makes me depressed as I remember it’s fucked exclusively because loads of people hate immigrants.

Tevez will become the highest-paid footballer of all-time if he signs for Shanghai Shenhua, leaving behind his beloved Boca Juniors for whom he re-signed in the summer of 2015 from Juventus. The club’s supporters chanted his name throughout the weekend’s 4-1 win against Colon, with one fan running onto the pitch to kneel and beg him to stay, before the former West Ham forward left the pitch in tears during a stoppage-time standing ovation.

And that’s the reason why I struggle to see the point in him moving there. Obviously the figures are obscene and he’s essentially been offered loads more money to do his job in a place where he can be a little more anonymous, but it’s not like he needs it, is it? Tevez has played for three of the richest clubs in Europe in Manchester United, Manchester City, and Juventus, and has already accrued more earnings from playing football than pretty much anyone else to have ever played the game. I’d imagine he’s boxed all his family and his mates off by now, really. It’s strange that this is happening only 18 months after he gave up the big money to go back to where he’s truly loved.

Thirty-eight million, though. That’s a bloody lot, that.

In essence, once his transfer to Gus Poyet’s side is confirmed before the Chinese Super League season restarts in February, he could stand at a till in Poundland for the next few years, buy an item every single second for the entire duration, and never run out of money.

Talk about living the dream.

Apologies, but you’re not getting a fourth section this week. I rambled on about Mondays for too long and it’s clearly all GOLD so I won’t be cutting it down, and now I’m all hyperbole’d out. Also, very little funny stuff happened this week, what with all the murders that have been getting done and the increasingly real possibility of a devastating nuclear war beginning in earnest in 2017, both of which have been taking up a lot of my thinking time recently.

So, erm, Merry Christmas one and all.

– Here is the Friday Show our look ahead to the upcoming round of Premier League action, free this week as part of the TAW Christmas Hamper.

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