The Quintuple

So the quintuple’s on and by that we don’t mean our usual Monday morning vodka, JD, Drambuie, crème de menthe and advocat chaser, but of course Man United’s potential five trophy clean sweep following yesterday’s League Cup win.

‘Nuff props to Ben Foster for the penalty saves, but Hornets fans have long known all about the excellent young gloveman for ages and we reckon Senor Fabio could do a lot worse than chuck him into the starting line-up right now.

Yet amid the Red Devils triumph emerges a story that is just plainly wrong on so many levels, namely They Call Him Rio and fiancée Rebecca Ellison’s plan to have a barn owl swoop down the aisle and deliver their rings when they get married next August.

Now having read that back we had to pinch ourselves, a) to make sure we’re not still drunk and b) just because seriously WTF?!

It raises so may questions: Where do you get such highly trained Strigiformes outside of a JK Rowling novel in the first place and surely, if such creatures do exist, wouldn’t they be better employed battling Al Quaida rather than adorning the ‘natural successor to Bobby Moore’s’ impending nuptials.

The mind truly, truly, truly boggles.

Tomorrow: John Terry, my best man the velociraptor.

Mourinho’s Magic door

An intriguing European night full of technical excellence, outstanding endeavour and tactical nuance, but enough of our Shrove Tuesday pancake session, we speak of course of the classic Inter v Man Utd game at the San Siro.

A great opening half from United, Inter back into it second half, chances on both sides and despite the dearth of goals a very entertaining game.

But of course the revelation of the night was Mourinho’s magic door which apparently leads from the Inter dug out to who knows where...

As José Mário dos Santos Félix said, "My dugout is a special dugout because we have a door which gives me the chance to leave it directly,"

Debate has raged all erm lunchtime. Does it lead to Narnia? Is it a secret route to Jose’s secret 300 Euro wine stash? Or does it lead, as we’ve long suspected, up his own arsehole?

We report, you decide....

Rafa’s Rants part 1

In what’s sure to just the first instalment of an ongoing series, today we pay tribute to Liverpool boss Rafa ‘Town Crier’ Benitez, who’s launched a pre-emptive strike against Fergie and his Red Devil minions in the very first chapter of The Gospel According To Rafa.

The substance we won’t get into, although it has to be said Fergie does appear to enjoy a certain protected heritage status when it comes to pronouncements of his own - and you wouldn't be human if you didn't have a sly giggle at the notion of man-marking the United staff in the tunnel.

Would you favour man to man or zonal Rafa?

Yet it’s the style which concerns us most. Rafa’s undoubtedly been niggled by a few of Fergie’s canny ‘casual’ asides, but why choose last week to retaliate when the Scousers were sitting pretty at the top of the table?

Just like the US, we’re all for launching a pre-emptive strike, ie. get your retaliation in before the other guy even knows he’s at war, but on this occasion has Rafa gone way too early?

In other tales of dark doings we have to pose the question is Maradona a secret Fergie agent?

Apparently the pint-sized Argentinean supremo interrupted his orgy of cocaine and hookers as he lit a cigar at the Radisson Edwardian in Manc-town, causing the entire hotel including the Chelsea squad to be rousted out and evacuated in the early-ish hours of Sunday morning.

Hardly the best preparation for their 3-0 shooing by United yesterday.

Perhaps there’s something in Rafa’s rants after all?

The mask slips...

We’ve been waiting for this one all season: nope not Cristiano Ronaldo winning the Ballon d’or (more on that tomorrow), but for the mask to finally slip and for Big Phil Scolari to reveal his true colours.

Big Phil, like Vesuvius has been strangely dormant all season, winning friends and influencing people with his halting ‘please love my Chelsea’ English and an unprecedented charm offensive which has seen him fail to rise to Sir Alex’s bait, and perhaps most surprisingly of all, make Chelsea a watchable enough side.

Could this really be the same Big Phil who once punched a Serbian sub and is said to have a temper as volatile as wearing Nitro Glycerene underpants while watching Penelope Cruz strip?

Has it all just been a cunning ploy to lull us into a false sense of security while Big Phil secretly smirks and covertly plots behind his bound human skin copy of The Art of War?

The answer is yes! For just like those poor Pompeians suspecting that distant rumbling signalled something ominous, the kraken has finally awoken and Big Phil has asked, nay demanded, an apology from ref Mike Dean after Chelsea succumbed 2-1 to Arsenal over the weekend.

Splendid, now the gloves off, Big Phil should go for the jugular. Despite the Scousers currently sitting top of the table, this season like the OK Corral, is going to boil down to just two teams of elite gun slingers, Man Utd and Chelsea.

Time for the real Big Phil Scolari to please stand up!

Feathered friends

They say never work with children or animals – a sentiment we’d heartily endorse after that incident with the toddler, the chainsaw and that spare bag of ferrets.

Still, it’s news from the stranger side of spurt today, with a number of incidents provoked or inspired by our furry or feathered friends.

First up Man United’s relatively poor start to the season has finally been explained and nope it’s not the global hair gel shortage which has affected Ronaldo, nor indeed the loss of Rooney’s locks which have resulted in a Samson-like reduction of the spud faced nipper’s pace and power.

Nope according to the super soaraway Sun (fascist rag) it’s all down to Man Utd’s training ground sessions being disrupted by dive bombing geese flying in from a nearby nature reserve.

Perhaps they were after that mouse Anderson concealed in Garry Neville’s shirt? Surely the most tenuous (for which read piss poor) story of the week from the Mirror.

Elsewhere Roy Keane’s dog has made the news as the Sunderland boss admitted "There are ex-players and ex-referees being given air-time who I wouldn't listen to in a pub... I wouldn't trust them to walk my dog."

From ‘mad dog’ Keano that’s quite a thing to say, but rumours that the mutt is being lined up to dunk his paws into the Newcastle poison chalice are believed to be wide of the mark.

Forgiveness

Not much doing on the sporting front today, apparently there’s some golf going on or something and Nick Faldo’s revealed his Open pairings. Sounds painful but two competing motives vie for our affections on the receipt of this news: firstly couldn’t give less of a shit about golf if were a constipated water buffalo which is only slightly offset by our natural urge to beat the Yanks at anything at all costs.

So go Europe for the win, yay! Dominate those links! Sink those putts. Or something.

Ahem anyway the only other item of interest was the return of Cristiano Ronaldo who was apparently met by a rousing standing ovation at Old Trafford when came off the bench in last night’s European tie.

Were we surprised by the lack of outrage from the Man Utd fans? Not much. Despite
Ronny practically lying on his back with legs akimbo for Real all summer, nothing was ever properly consummated and United fans know they need faithless young Ronny on board if they’re going to have any hope of remaining English and European champions this season.

Still it’s not exactly going to be an easy marriage when despite the apparent and very public rapprochement, Ronny’s still willing to commit footy adultery first opportunity he gets.

Opening Shots....

We’re so close to our summer hols now we can almost smell the fromage and taste the quarts of delicate vin rogue we intend to quaff like l’eau.

However before we depart it’s comforting to realise some things will never change and that when we return to Blighty, our treasured summer spurting rituals will remain largely untroubled by the passage of time.

Of what do we speak? Of Sir Alex Fergie’s annual pre-season mind games of course, with today’s target Big Phil Scolari and his merry band of Chelsea millionaires. As we’ve said before forget Calzaghe versus Roy Jones Junior, this is really the fight that everyone wants to see.

Fergie’s gone on the offensive with a none-too-subtle leading jab saying the Chelski squad are a touch on the seasoned side and ‘I don't see outstanding progress coming from a team in their 30s.’ Marvellous an almost perfect inversion of Hansen’s famously dis-proven Law which states ‘you can’t win anything with kids'.

Hitting his stride Fergie continued, “Maybe they have reached a plateau - although perhaps that's not the right word” which roughly translates as 'That’s exactly the write word’. And he wasn’t he even threw in a little feint and misdirection with "I wouldn't write off Liverpool or Arsenal either.”

Hilarious.

Quality stuff from the big man, who quite clearly sees Chelsea as the major threat. But how will Big Phil respond? In print? Online? By buying Kaka or Robinho? Or both?

This is going to be fascinating stuff....

Should I stay or should I go?

A world weary sigh escapes our lips today over the ongoing saga of Should I stay or should I go? Cristiano ‘Ronnie’ Ronaldo the world’s most exciting playerTM and his ongoing and very public flirting with Real Madrid, which would quite frankly put the cast of We’re All Nymphos Come Hither and Shag Us Big Boy* to shame.

Despite Sir Alex Ferguson’s direst warnings about Real’s very public courting (pot, kettle anyone?) and even ‘Saint’ David Beckham warnings, Ronny’s apparently now finally made up his little mind (no changing, no turning back, finally, definitely, promise) to head Bernabeu-wards for £75m in fees, a 150k a week after tax (wtf?), hotter pussy senoritas and a warmer climate.

The waters have most definitely been muddied by Ronnie’s curiously bi-lingual approach to the problem, ask him in Spanish and he’s all ‘Si senor, I will be there mañana,’ ask him in English and it’s ‘nay lad I’m staying as I’m addicted to black pudding, fat lasses and European cups’.

So like that famous conundrum when confronted by a hot tub full of willing nubiles, which way should he ultimately swing?

Well we simply report, it’s you, the readers who ultimately decide.

*This is not an actual real porno, but given that title we made up perhaps it should be?

Handbags…

A weekend of old skool partying this weekend leaves little room for spurting endeavours and it’s a weary, wasted yet happy correspondent who eventually limps home to fall asleep during Sunday’s Barcelona GP, which, Heikki Kovalainen’s
big stack apart, is a Ferrari processional, although it’s good to see young Master Hamilton sneak back onto the podium.

But now spring has truly sprung, when “a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love”, or at least ‘I fancy a bit of that’, you’d imagine some of it might rub off and a spirit of comradeship or at least détente might pervade the sporting air.

But honestly, not a bit of it, we stop pounding the spurting beat for one short weekend and what happens? The whole sporting world decides it’s time to play handbags at ten paces.

First up: the battles of Stamford Bridge; now for the neutral it’s hard to decide what to despise more Man Utd’s arrogance or Chelsea’s tedious efficiency, but the 2-1 win was a good result meaning the race will go to the wire.

But onto the important bit the violence and England skipper wannabe Rio Ferdinand, who accidentally booted a female steward when he meant to kick a interview room door in frustration. Rio we thought you’d eliminated those annoying lapses of concentration, door = big, wooden, steward = female, human. Absorb, reflect, yeah?

Next up a classic spot of ‘afters’ where following the game Park Ji-Sung and Partrice Evra got stuck into Chelsea’s ground staff in a warm down spat of epic proportions and lusty blows. Disappointing, not least because they forgot the cardinal rule: let’s keep violence where it belongs: on the pitch and during the game where we can all enjoy it.

Finally, the continuing sorry saga of Indian spinner Harbhajan Singh who reportedly bitch-slapped fellow Indian team mate Sree Santh in the Mumbai Indians vs Kings XI Punjab IPL game. Sree Snath had opened with a vicious innocuous pleasantry on the lines of “bad luck on losing the game old fella” and for Singh that was enough for the red mist to descend. Is he related to Craig Bellamy by any chance?

Anyway TV failed to capture the incident but apparently Sree Santh subsequently wept on the outfield and had to be comforted by team-mates.

What a big girl.

Today’s Spurt was bought to you in a spirit of love and understanding by the United Weapons Manufacturing and Export Corporation, ‘a safer world through bigger guns’. If you’d like to sponsor a spurt, send us a mail at World of Spurt