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CLOSE THE WINDOW, THE MERCHANDISE IS ROPEY 17-1-07
Peter Holmes
Instead of the expected rush of transfers, football the business has been more to the fore during the bi-annual opening of the most expensive pane of glass on the planet, that FIFA invention, the intangible gold framed transfer window.
I know I am in the minority here, but I really hope that Boro refrain from buying in this months bi-annual event and simply just get rid of some of the overpaid free-loaders we've been collecting in a musty cupboard at Rockliffe Park. January hasn't exactly been a period of frenetic wheeling and dealing, only THAT deal really making the headlines.
The whole World gasped in collective amazement at the news that Brand Beckham had decided to take it's money spinning trademark across the turbulent Atlantic to California, the land of fruits and nuts, leaving behind the rugged climes of the Iberian peninsular.
Specifically, to the Hollywood centric metropolis of LA, City of Angels, to ply his trade in a new sport called 'Soccer'. He will be ploughing his expensive furrow amongst the also-rans in the ranks of the LA Galaxy, who happen to be one of the big boys in the MLS (Major League Soccer to be exact, though sounds like a military character in an Oliver Stone conspiracy movie!).
Recently the man of many hairstyles has attended more Hollywood soirees than La Liga fixtures. At 31, Becks' star is on the wane, dropped by both his beloved England and benched by Madrid, he's more of a perfume salesman than a footballer these days and not exactly needing the money.
Hard-line Italian manager Fabio Capello is in the process of rebuilding the Madrid team with youth and got sick of the celebrity circus which surrounds Beckham, just as champion boot chucker Sir Alex Ferguson, his old Manchester United gaffer, had done before him.
The writing was well and truly on the wall the day Spain's self proclaimed galactico juggernauts, more money than sense Real Madrid, signed twenty year old Fernando Gago from Argy team Boca Juniors for a paltry fourteen million squid.
At the flash press conference the young Pampas poser, with his handsome chiselled features ironically looking not unlike a David Beckham clone resplendent with flowing locks and girlie Alice band. A central midfielder or right flanker, Gago will be playing in the very patch of the field that Becks made his own while in-vogue at the Santiago Bernabeu.
That was until this season of course and Becks vogue just wasn't in anymore.
Something had to be done, so, with it's persona threatening to drop from sight, Brand Beckham simply re-invented itself to give the world's gossip columnists, and frothing editors of woman's celebrity mad weeklies, a reason to keep turning up to work after months of asking themselves;
"Will Brand Beckham take its immense cash earning potential elsewhere and with which hairstyle?"
Undoubtedly a double act, Becks and his emaciated stick insect of a wife, Victoria, former Spice tart and former Queen WAG of England, were ready for another suitably fashionable football city to conquer.
Rumours abounded, Milan, Rome, Paris or Bolton anyone?
His fame is ethereal, incandescent, and fully transcends his football status tenfold. It was obvious that it was time for a new frontier for Mr. & Mrs. Posh.
So off they swan to the original great frontier, the wild west of America. While the money will ease the pain of playing in a very poor league, it's more about the next phase of the Beckham master plan.
Playing the new sport of 'Soccer', polishing his star with Brasso, feeding the fame machine, then finally the reason behind it all, pursuing an acting career (While Posh continues singing very badly and becomes a star on the professional bulimia circuit).
When you think about it where else but Hollywood could entertain two such egos?
Ironic then that Beckham is well behind the eight ball in the thespian stakes to the
one and only Vinnie Jones, the hard-case wild eyed 'Crazy Gang' thug who enjoyed squeezing Gazza's knackers on the field of play until "he squealed like a little girl".
Big Vinnie is now regarded among the Hollywood experts as a bit of a cult figure (No I didn't transpose an L for an N) and has carved out a fairly respectable career playing out his on field persona in various quirky Hollywood projects. A regular on the red carpet scene with his Actor's Equity card peaking out of his top pocket, ironically, a position I think old goldenballs and his missus jealously covet.
One of Vinnie's old clubs, Chelski, is by all accounts self-imploding, all because of a few injuries to key players and an argument over transfer funds between boss Moaningminnio & owner Ambramorich. By all accounts he's spat the dummy and will turn up at Real Madrid in the summer. Two huge egos and neither enjoy being told what to do.
In truth, it's quite simply a fact of footballing life that every manager has to face, but the loss of Chelsea and England captain, John Terry, has had a more profound effect than any other factor, real or implied.
Poor Johnny boy, has been getting very frustrated while kicking his heels watching from the side-lines so had a quiet night out with his team-mates recently, slumming it at a swish private casino in downtown Park Lane, where Mercs and Bentleys are as common as bicycles in Shanghai.
Terry, who had already blown a five figure amount over a few hours of light gambling, found 2500 quid burning a hole in the corner of his wallet so punted it on a game of roulette, as you do!
With little deliberation, he placed his stash on 26, his shirt number at Chelsea since before he had pubes. Round flashed the red and black wheel and that little ball dropped right in there making Terry some $87,500 in winnings. But, when you earn around that amount as a weekly wage the celebration and excitement factor would be less subdued than the average flutter merchant but, very tidy to say the least.
Ironically, Terry is not training at present as he's getting over an operation on his back injury. Maybe he sustained the back strain while picking up his wallet?
Any speculation that Harry C was also seen punting large at the same table is pure hyperbole from the man at the Sun, but I hear he did threaten a photographer as he left from the tradesman's entrance with his 'Ting Tong' in tow!
Talking of physical threats to paparazzi types. The bloke who probably preceded Beckham as English football's human headline, perennial playboy and renowned 'daft-as-a-brush' merchant Paul 'Gazza' Gascoigne has featured large in the gossip pages of the daily tabloids as usual.
By all accounts, he took a dislike to getting his photo taken while a bit inebriated (is there a photo in existence of him sober?) and is presently embroiled in an assault case where he allegedly thumped said snapper. This time though he has a family rival for media attention in the form of his step-daughter, Bianca, who has been very upfront displaying her newly enhanced figure topless on the beaches of Ibiza.
Maybe that snapper he thumped was the one who took photos of booby Bianca?
Not to be outdone, the Geordie numptee, who courts controversy mainly through alcohol-fuelled stupidity and the fact he is as thick as shit, announced that a crazy obsessional mystery woman is stalking him. Makes you wonder how that supposed stalker got hold of Gazza's mobile number in the first place (maybe Shane Warne passed it on) and, how he quite simply hasn't had the common sense to get a new mobile phone or a sim card.
Paul Gascoigne. Celebrity and stupidity packaged in perfect harmony.
So, I personally really don't care if that transfer window closes and Boro don't sign anybody as we've had our share of over-rated overpaid has-beens plying their lumbago riddled retirement trade at the Riverside. Just like Gazza, the Geordie version of 'Dumb and Dumber' in a single entity, who was pure crap for Boro.
Besides, all that appears in the January sales is basically rubbish that no bugger would buy the previous year and the High Street drags it out of the basement, dusts it off and windows dresses mutton as lamb. Besides, the Boro are not really very adept at this shopping especially when it comes to a bargain, usually overpaying, losing the change then forgetting to ask about the extended mechanical warranty.
History bares me out. Remember that Ray Parlour clown suit from a few seasons back? Wore it once and it simply disappeared with your bank balance!?
Then there was the Ricketts dehydrated Mr.Blobby set. Just add water and watch it turn to a pile of useless jelly like shite!
And, who could forget the Alen Boksic action-figure? We bought it second-hand from some dodgy Italian street traders and it's knees gave way, it ate too much, then it regularly went missing in action because it didn't have a spine?
Listen to your old pal Gibbo and keep your hands in your pockets and your hard-earned in your wallet. January's brown paper gift-wrapping hides a multitude of defects. Stick with the toys in the cupboard and save up for some new clobber for a big party in May!
Enough said,
ErimusRed.
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