Blogfather, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your open bar on your wedding day. May your second child also be a masculine child and support Everton to balance the Force.
Not exactly what Luca Brasi said to Don Corleone on the day Connie married that turncoat Carlo, but you get the idea. While the rest of you lot might be tucking into this weekend’s friendly between the US and Jules Rimet winners (suck it, FIFA World Cup) Spain, your blogfather will be on a beach somewhere getting sized for the ball and chain he’s about to drag about.
James T’s gettin’ married!
So here at UF, what bastards would we be without giving the Blogfather a couple wedding gifts to show we care–or at least, pay attention. From the old Victorian poem, then, is where we draw our inspiration.
Sure, it might not be ours to bequeath, but when has that ever stopped this third-rate locomotive, eh? A notable image from the most recent glory days of Liverpool, before the days when Carra resorted to defending only with his spikes and when Stevie G was still “talismanic.” The combined ages of the players and the Champions League trophy in this image are 568 years, so this certainly counts as “something old.”
Okay, the ownership group of Liverpool aren’t entirely new, but this summer will be their first grand summer transfer season, so that’s new-ish, right? Having seemingly thrown money about like a lad at his Bachelor’s Party in the winter, NESV ended up not really breaking the bank when the January buys of Andy Carroll and Luis Suarez were balanced against that sale of Torres to Chelsea.
After working a minor miracle with King Kenny in waking Anfield from its Hodgson-induced stupor to finish in a respectable position at the end of the campaign, NESV now have a full summer of silly shopping ahead of them. So this fall Liverpool supporters like James T should have renewed hope for a successful 2011/12 after a previous year that began under the Statler/Waldorf Cloud of Insufferable Doom.
Here we would have gladly given you a new FIFA President too James, but that Grant Wahl for FIFA thing just didn’t work as The Stretford End had spent all our bribe cash on a new United shirt and a “19″ tattoo.
This one was tough, as you know anything second-hand from Moonshine Mike likely isn’t that desirable, the only thing Autoglass could contribute was a bag which once held airline peanuts, The Fan’s Attic’s Timbers log was already broken, Jacob’s suggestion had been passed back, and Norfolk Ned wouldn’t part with his fantastic Canaries sweater even if it meant curing the world of cancer.
Also, you probably wouldn’t have wanted what The New York Kid offered, as none of us knew where it had last been and there was a “unique” smell that you probably wouldn’t have wanted in your home. Mountain WAG had already donated most of her extra items to a local charity–that’s Mother Teresa WAG now to you lot!–and The Likely Lad was too busy grooming his Stanley Cup Finals playoff beard to respond.
So I give you my Kindle! Oh, you say it’s the death of your industry, but face it–what better way to unwind on the beach sipping a top batch bourbon than with this handy, light-weight miracle around? It’s already loaded with some of your favorite football books along with some new ones I put on there from my Book Club selections.
The best part is it’s thin and light, which means you can pack it for the honeymoon and still have plenty of space to smuggle cigars, liquor, or guns out of wherever it is you’re going. And when you feel like reading Simon Kuper’s new book The Football Men, you won’t have to flip through 336 pages and subject yourself to paper cuts–just click!
This one was so easy, it sold itself. We had to jump on it, though, as the toddler sizes were selling fast on the blue side of Liverpool. We weren’t able to give this one to you right away though, as the air mail courier at Lennon Airport has been delayed–apparently, the landing gear was stolen prior to take-off and the carrier’s had difficulty finding replacement wheels with matching hubcaps.
Precious Roy’s sent some minions out to swim back across the Atlantic with that darling gift for your future Everton talisman, but it might still take some time. BG’s put out the notice through his GBWTF contacts while Orr hastily ordered you an Italy kit hoping it arrives faster so as to bribe your tribe into supporting the Azzuri instead.
So, Happy Wedding James T! We hope you and the soon-to-be Mrs. James T have a wonderful ceremony and a great honeymoon. Perhaps by the time you return, FIFA will have choked itself to death on Chuck Blazer’s beard so Sepp will no longer be able to keep you chained to the intern’s desk in Zurich.