He's losing it
Poor guy.
Just last year, he was managing modest expectations at a fine London club, taking them to the brink of Europa League glory. Now he’s stuck stalking the Anfield sidelines, rubbing his face in the hopes that all his pain will go away the minute he stops grinding his face into a fine slurry.
Newcastle saw him begin the fevered “Roy Rub” (thanks, The Likely Lad), and it was spotted again during last night’s dire, tepid, horrendous 0-0 with FC Utrecht in the Europa League.
I wonder what Roy thinks when he brings his hands to his face…
- I wish I could be back at Fulham. I really, really miss Zoltan Gera. Boy, would his name bring a smile to my face after a hard day of thinking really hard about the 4-4-2 and how to make it sing in the modern game.
- Mmmm, if my face were a cheese grater and my hands a soft block of cheddar, we’d have enough nacho toppings to last Peter Crouch a lifetime.
- I hate this place. This zoo. This prison. This reality, whatever you want to call it, I can’t stand it any longer. It’s the smell, if there is such a thing. I feel saturated by it. I can taste your stink and every time I do, I fear that I’ve somehow been infected by it. Oh, who am I kidding. Just a quick rub should get that Anfield stench from my pores!
- Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh
- I’m not in Switzerland any more. Wake up, Roy! You’re losing to Newcastle. Newcastle! Half your team’s hurt and the other half want to leave immediately! Massage some sense into your face and get this sorted, else you’ll be out of a job before you can say “Fat Sam is a big fat, fatty man.”
- I could always be a Nivea spokesman if they’ll pay me. Who wouldn’t want to see this on TV? Me, a craggy old man who looks vaguely like a witch, vigorously rubbing cream into my sallow cheeks?
- If the fans see me doing this, they’ll feel my pain! Maybe they’ll empathize! Maybe we’ll all become stronger on the back of my facial frottage! I mean, why do they hate me so much? Is it my headmaster’s demeanor? My lack of perspective? Is it my bland disposition? My litany of meaningless excuses that ignore the greater problems? Am I not Spanish enough for them? WHAT IS IT, YOU UNGRATEFUL PEOPLE!? BRRRRRR RUB-RUB-RUB-RUB-RUB-RUB
- I hope no-one sees this on camera.
Facial frottage–will be using that one in a conversation during this weekend’s XMas party.
“This match is made even worse by the knowledge that my hubcaps will be gone when I leave the dressing room.”
I just made the mistake of Googling “frottage.”
Thank me later, EF!