Each month we’re sending our objectionable Eurosceptic correspondent to a scout a different league on the continent, and asking him to report back with his gibberish disguised as fact. This month, it’s La Liga. God help them.
“ Gibraltar. Chorizo. Quince. Castanets. The SEAT Leon. Just a short litany taken from the roll of horror that our Spanish cousins have forced on the UK. You take a sausage and you say ‘I think this sausage needs spicing up’ and the next thing you know, you’re funding an advertising campaign depicting a fascist leader denouncing sausages. But is it any worse than dry-curing a sausage and filling it with paprika? I’ll let you decide. So why, I hear you ask, did I marry a Spaniard? Well how else am I going to retire to the Costa Del Sol once we’ve finally banished the frankly ridiculous freedom of movement rules in Europe? Is it a marriage of convenience? Well it is for me. Haha.
I arrived in Santander yesterday, and couldn’t find a cashpoint at all. It beggars belief! I had the pleasure to spend the trip on the ferry with one of my favourite comedians. The hours of travel flew by as Jim Davidson did his famous ‘Chalky’ impressions, and we swapped stories of how useless women can be, and throwing peanuts at the ethnic passengers. Great japes. As soon as I managed to find a bank (not a Santander I hasten to add), I sat down for a traditional Spanish breakfast off eggs, smoked cured pork, haricot beans in a tomato sauce, ‘papas asadas’, morcilla, and a fried slice. All washed down with seven pints of beer. Now, to get to work and look at some of these ‘fútbol’ teams.
Ah now, here’s a football club. A team of the people. The defence of internal peace. The sacred mission of a nation. Eleven men dressed in virginal white. There’s no fake news here – its Real Madrid. What a smashing group of boys. Ronaldo, the looker. Benzema, the ladies man. Modric, the Slavic schemer. And Bale, our own boy. I see they’re indisputably the best team in the world, well I’ve never been known to back a losing horse so my money is on Los Blancos to bring home the bacon this year.
And what a contrast in Barcelona. A city of national traitors. A team cheats and lowlifes. Ugly football played by uglier footballers. The pygmy Messi, living off his former glories. No longer fit to lace the boots of the Portugese boy in Madrid. And Suarez, another South American, playacting his way through his miserable career. Amusingly it looks as though they’ve tried to push through a few deals this summer and all of them collapsed. Sounds like David Davis! Haha. Anyway. Disgusting, hateful. No, not for me at all. Banish them from the league as far as I’m concerned.
Madrid Athletic, the squat younger brother of Franco’s fabulous footy stars, they look an interesting bunch. Another South American there, the cheat Simeone – oh of course we all remember the World Cup. The ‘Hand of God’. Despicable, but not surprising. It says here the driving force in their midfield is Koke Partey, which gives their midfield something in common with the Houses of Parliament! Haha. Great days. Yes these boys look good.
Someone once called me a ‘Goblin-faced fascist ninny whose face also looks like a big orange and also really racist with bad teeth and generally just a turd’, so I feel a kinship with Sevilla, where oranges are grown. The two Danes, Kjaer and Krohn-Delhi have caught my eye here. Big, strong, Aryan. Can’t see a lot getting past them. Funnily enough crohn’s and delhi and two issues I’ve had with my tum tum in recent years. Well, three nights a week down the Star of Bangladesh will do that to you! Chicken Vindaloo, half rice-half chips, plain naan, and seven pints of beer thank you very much. How much would it cost? No idea, straight on the expenses with that one. They’ve got Ben Yedder up front, and I love his films, so he can’t be half bad.
Combining two of my favourite teams, Villa and Real, Villarreal play in an eye-catching shade of yellow. Spring rolls and prawn toast please! Plenty of Spaniards in this team, which is what we like to see. Keep them away from our clubs, haha. They’ve got Chewbacca up front – he’s the hairy chap isn’t he? Very tall so should score plenty of goals. To infinity and beyond I say old Chewy!
Now we’re heading over to the Basque country to have a look at Athletic Bilbao. To anyone not aware (and this is where I do my Judith Chalmers bit) the Basque country is a bit like Wales. It’s in Spain, just as Wales as in Britain, but they like to pretend they’re a country in their own right. Awfully charming really. Now they’ve got a rule at Athletic Bilbao whereby most of the players have to have Basque lineage – which I really can get behind. More teams should focus on purebloodedness rather than let themselves be bossed around by political correctness. Before you know it we’ll have mosques in the centre circle.
This can’t be right. There’s a football team on Gran Canaria? Good grief, whatever next? I suppose we’ll see Orkney Athletic in the Premier League. Their closest away game is 1,500 miles away, which is roughly the distance from the Shetlands Islands to Greenock via Penzance. Either way, I don’t fancy the chances of The Palms (that’s Las Palmas to our Spanish friends). They’ll need to…knuckle down if they’re going to have any chance of staying up. Haha. Their fingers have already been burnt this season. Haha. Also it looks like they’ve sold a Prince in the summer, which seems like a daft move to me. Two thumbs down. Haha.
Another Basque team, Alaves, are my next choice for the dreaded drop. This lot are less bothered about keeping their team pureblood, and they’ve even gone as far as employing a couple of Balkans. Yet another example of cheap labour from the former Yugoslavia taking the jobs of good honest Brits. I’m sure Matthew Etherington could do just as good a job as Aleksandar Katai. Now I’ve had a look at their kits, and they’ve gone and bastardised the cross of St George. That’s enough for me, send them straight down.
‘Never gonna stop, give it up, such a dirty mind, I always get it up, for the touch of the younger kind, My, my, my, aye-aye, whoa! M-m-m-my Girona!’ Haha. Love The Kinks, great band. Sure the lyrics have more than a little Glitter about them, but it was a different time. As long as no-one’s getting hurt, you turn a blind eye don’t you. Yes, Girona. Owned by Manchester City by the looks of it. Privitisation in all its glory there. I imagine Comrade Corbyn would want to set the poor little blighters free. Then probably import a load of middle Eastern immigrants to blow the whole town to smithereens. Either way I don’t think they’ve got what it takes to cut the mustard in this league.
So, there you have it. The pain in Spain occurs mainly on the plane. I’ve got deep vein thrombosis. Join me next time when I’ll be interrupting my busy scheduling of addressing the Hitler Youth to have a look at German Football.”
Vile Barrage will be back next month with another insightless round-up of one of Europe’s top leagues, barring a freak hurricane in the South Thanet area.