Groundbreaking Technology for FIFA?

So it’s goodbye to señor Capello, then. The tabloids finally got their wish. I mean, who wants one them foreign-types in charge of the England squad anyway? With their comedy glasses and silly accents. Who cares if they oversaw two almost immaculate qualifying campaigns? Is anyone really bothered if they’ve won an absolute sh*t-load of trophies in their careers; one which has spanned over twenty years at the highest level? Mere details, Timothy, details. We need an Englishman. You know, because… well nevermind why- it just has to be, okay?

Festering swill, if you ask me. What we need is for some sections of the British press to stop acting the tw*t. You’d be forgiven for thinking the Italian had been caught hiding in the bushes of a children’s play area with a Polaroid camera and a bag of Starmix, such is the demon he’s been painted as.

Anyway, this, of course, all has implications for us followers of the Hotspur, which we’ll tackle on a sunnier day. For now I’d like to welcome back Trailer Trash’s Harry Thompson, who, in today’s column, is investigating the disappearance of one infamous Argentinean firebrand and some rather ingenious technology for players of his type. FIFA, take note…

On Greed in Football

Carlos Tevez, you remember him, right? Do you know where he is? It’s important. He was last seen at his work place sometime in September and then whoosh – gone. He’s of stocky build, which pundits tirelessly refer to as ‘bulldog-like’ and a face that looks like it should be hunted by pitchfork-wielding villagers.

He’s one of the highest paid, most recognisable people in football, reported to earn a calculator-breaking £250,000. And yet he appears to have given up on the profession that has made him so disgustingly affluent. Personally, I’d run onto the field and f*cking kill someone for that money, bash their head in right there with my Nike endorsed spaceship-football boot.

I know how reluctant FIFA are to embrace new technologies, but I’ve got an innovation even they’ll find hard to turn down:

Strict contractual clauses in every big-name signing’s contract (for those earning six-figure weekly salaries) would make it a legal obligation to have state-of-the-art microchips inserted into the cognitive hemisphere of said players’ brains.

Anytime they were about to negatively affect the club, severe electrolysis would take hold and flashing images of starving Somali children would be beamed straight from CNN and brainstorm their thinkbox. This Pavlovian conditioning would ensure the players honoured their contracts, and benefit their social conscience. You’d know it were working because you’d see them lantern-jawed, eyes rolling into the back of their heads, grunting like a shot elk.

If I weren’t so sure Tevez was one of the stupider things to have ever walked the earth, ranked somewhere between an ignoranosaurus and an idiotophant, I’d think he was making a brilliantly subversive comment on capitalism, or something. But six years in England and he speaks like he’s never even fleetingly seen an episode of Friends, I mean…come on. Come on.

So, with Tevez peering into the distance like a brain-damaged cat, how did he possibly get so rich, and where did he get such good advice?

Let me introduce you to Kia Joorabchian, Tevez’s devil’s advocate. While he looks like a merciless Columbian drug lord in a film directed by Brian de Palma, he’s actually much worse.

Mr. Joorabchian doesn’t class himself as an agent, he’s unlicensed which is illegal in English footbal, but that’s okay because he’s not an agent. He merely advises players on their contracts and wages, and advises the clubs on payments and contracts, and then gets a large cut.

Nope, that sounds nothing like an agent.

Christ, no wonder Tevez is so confused.