Now, what if the Mill were to tell you that we never went to the moon, JFK lives in Scotland with Janis Joplin and the only reason there was a cold war for 45 years was because snake-headed aliens run the oil business? You’d probably think the Mill had popped another microdot or been at grandpa’s old medicine cabinet, and you’d have a point. But what if the Mill were to tell you that Asmir Begovic is to leave Stoke City and make his merry way to Real Madrid? Would you, once more, think the Mill had popped another microdot or been at grandpa’s old medicine cabinet? You would, eh? Well the joke’s on you, dear reader, for he is, post haste.
You see Real Madrid really, really, really, really, really want David de Gea. And they’ve done all they can to persuade him to join. They’ve promised him steak and lobster and salad bar all in a single meal, with a dressing of his choice no less! They’ve promised him heated toilet seats throughout his house and that they’d pay to have his favourite episodes of Coronation Street acted out for him live in his sitting room. They even offered to foot his hair gel bill for a year. But David said no. And when Real fell at his feet and cried and cried and said they could not live without him, David just turned his head and gazed into the distance, like a bored boyfriend waiting for his partner outside the fitting room. Suitably rejected, Real were forced to look for relief in the bottom of a bottle and in the aforementioned Stoke strike stopper. The Potters have been wagging chins with Begovic’s Mr/Ms 10% over a new deal but terms have yet to be agreed. “Hopefully they are going to be concluded in our favour,” honked Mark Hughes. He is a funny one old Hughsey.
Elsewhere, Yaya Touré is ... zzz ... Internazionale ... zzz ... PSG.
The Mill does not like to be the bearer of bad news. It is not that type of Mill. But bad news it must bear. Bad news for Tottenham fans. Very bad news. You know the way every summer you all gather together outside White Hart Lane and you light candles and, led by a troop of local religious leaders, you sing hymns and offer up a collective prayer in the hope that the egg-headed suits in charge won’t spend the sun-splashed months zig-zagging their way around Europe offering up the club’s talent before leaving it too late for the money to be properly reinvested in the squad? And you know the way that prayer always fails? Well be prepared for more disappointment this summer. Said suits are keen to trim the squad and first on the chopping block are Emmanuel Adebayor and Roberto Soldado. Once they are comfortably settled in for their extended stay at a ryokan named Do One, they will be joined by Vlad Chiriches, Younès Kaboul, Étienne Capoue, Paulinho, Mousa Dembélé and Aaron Lennon. Like the Mill said, bad news, very bad news. You must all be devastated. Our thoughts are with you.
Finally, the brains over at Manchester City have been up all night spitballing for a way to solve all the problems they’ve been having of late. It took 10 litres of coffee and three packets of sour roll Mentos but they did it. By George, they did it. How you ask? Well they could’ve decided to send scouts to South America to have a look at the emerging talent illuminating the barrios of Buenos Aires. Or they could’ve decided to trawl through the lower leagues looking at stone-faced talent to shape into diamonds? Or they could’ve plucked a young, hungry, youth teamer who is scared of nothing (except spiders and snakes and dogs) and who plays as he if were out in the local park with his mates. But they said nuts to that and instead they just gave Southampton a call and asked if £20-odd million would be enough to have a chat with Jay Rodriguez about a jaunt up north. Signing a striker who has not played a match for over a year. Genius! Pure genius!
