André the Giant
Bello!
I do hope you’re well.
A new dawn, then. That’s the long and short of it. Andres Villas-Boas swaggered into White Hart Lane on Tuesday with the kind of continental savoir-faire I haven’t seen since our Polish binman decided to do the rounds for a week in a top hat. No interviews from the former Porto chief- a novelty in itself- just a very encouraging statement of intent and a smart looking haircut. Pure bliss.
“I feel privileged to be its coach. For me, this is one of the most exciting coaching positions in the Premier League.
“I have had several discussions with the chairman and the board and I share their vision for the future progress of the club.
“This is a squad any coach would love to work with and together I believe we can bring success in the seasons ahead.”
I, for one, welcome our new insect overlord, in the words of Kent Brockman. A modern football manager hired by a chairman who aspires to run a modern football club. There’s not much else we could ask for. ‘Arry had plenty of qualities to admire- not least his eye for a bargain; but picking up Styrofoam-limbed centre-forwards on the cheap is no kind of contingency plan. Not if you’re looking beyond the next twelve months. Not if you’re proposing some kind of future.
So, who’re the first children of the revolution, I hear you ask? Well, little time was wasted in the signing of Gylfi Sigurdsson; no sooner had AVB located a nice, sturdy drawer in which to hide his chocolate digestives, the Icelandic playmaker was in through the gates and into our hearts. At least most Liverpool fans seem to be taking the news well; one in particular went as far as penning an entire manifesto outlining why they’re definitely better off without the gold-digging harlot. What ever floats your boat. With the whole Joe Cole ‘footballing reasons’ snub of a few summers back, I’d say that was one-all.
Elsewhere, Jan Vertonghen… actually, you know what, I think we’ll leave that one there.
Welcome to The Lane, Andre.
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