Keane Can Whistle

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At first I assumed he’d suffered a heatstroke. But then I clapped eyes on his pasty, washed-out, puckered forehead and realised he can’t have seen any good sunlight for months. He was serious. ‘It’s quite simple,’ he told the gathering of curious media types, ‘I’m going back to Tottenham.’ Quelle f*cking surprise. Robbie Keane has finished molesting his latest boyhood dream north of Hadrian’s Wall and now wants a second bash at Champions League infamy. What’s more, with Bob not being the most gracious of bench-warmers, you’ve got to imagine the frowning Irishman’s assertions are bred from a desire for first team duties. He actually wants to play. And who’re we to argue with Celtic’s Player of the Year? Next you’ll be telling me twelve goals in the SPL does not a quality striker make.

All I can say is- I hope Sunderland getting a p*ssing move on and make a bid for him. Sharpish. Otherwise this could turn into the most boring will he- won’t he saga in living memory. About eight million should do it.

In other news- some much less likely to have you yelling at your computer screen- Ledley King breezed through ninety-minutes at Wembley last night. The turf may be better suited to cultivating Maris Pipers in its present condition, but it was barely enough to stop our man settling into that back four like a warm slipper. One or two early wobbles, perhaps, but you’d presume he’d done enough to inch one of his buttocks on to that plane heading for Africa. A well taken goal, too. Peter Crouch can already pull his suitcase down from the loft and start wiping the dust off. He might’ve been offside, he might just have hand-balled it on route to net- and, yes, he may’ve fallen over in the aftermath with the elegance of a garden shed. But he does as Peter Crouch invariably does. He scored for England.

The latest transfer gossip is we’re eyeing up Everton’s Steven Pienaar. The South African is allegedly dithering over new contract talks; a fact which can’t help but have alerted the attention of those in sniffing distance. I for one hope ‘Arry’s on the case. I’d take that tenacious little b*stard in a field mouse’s heartbeat.


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