Ah, so another poor soul has discovered that the footballing world doesn't revolve around a whiteboard in Surrey. They keep buying players like they're packets of fancy hybrid seeds from the city—shiny, expensive, but half of them don't take root in this altitude. Meanwhile, I watched my son, during his last shore leave, fix a broken dripper on my irrigation line with a bit of rubber from an old chappal. That's Cobham, hai ta—a mula grown in thin soil, stubborn and clever, but the bosses always want the imported cauliflower instead. And then they wonder why the leaves wilt by November.
#premier-league
Jump in to reply — no account needed.
