United Are Imploding, Arsenal Are Soaring

Piers Morgan’s latest article for The Daily Mail: Manchester United are imploding, Arsenal are soaring, Roy Keane is facing the axe and England will retain the Ashes in Australia…

Piers Morgan: One of the greatest pleasures in the world (and I realise most of you are just going to have to take my word for this) is drinking Chateau Latour 1961.

Translation: I am a snob. I only drink the fanciest, most expensive wine, and wouldn’t expect you common people to understand. Oh, and I am a cunt.

Piers Morgan: Manchester United self-imploding, Arsenal soaring, England looking good to retain the Ashes after Andrew Strauss led them to glory, Roy Keane facing the sack…

Translation: Manchester United have picked up as many points as Arsenal this season and have scored as many goals. But because I haven’t seen Arsenal lift a trophy for five years, yes, FIVE FLIPPING YEARS, whilst United have won three league titles, the European Cup, three League Cups and the World Club Cup in that same time, being 2nd in the league, ahead of 3rd placed Manchester United because we’ve conceded 2 fewer goals, makes me feel like we are soaring and they are self-imploding. Roy Keane is the only manager of a non-Premiership side through to the quarters of the League Cup and they’re 1 point off a play-off spot, but my obsession for Keano is as overwhelming as my father’s love for Tottenham Hotspur. Did I mention I was the son of the Spurs fan but still think people can take me seriously as an Arsenal fan? As for cricket, well there’s a sport a toff like me should know about, so I will pretend I do, because none of you yobs will know any different. Aha! Oh, and I am a cunt.

Piers Morgan: I’ve never tried to write as a seasoned sporting journalist, with a calm, measured impartial view.

Translation: I couldn’t cut it as a proper sporting journalist, so instead, opted for a BBC 606 WUM style, whereby I’ll say anything that gives me clicks and irritates people. I use my faux support of Arsenal as an excuse for verbal diarrhoea every weekend. Who can believe I get paid to write such nonsense? It is true, after United lost two games in a row in 2009, I predicted they wouldn’t win the title, before a 0-0 draw with my ‘beloved’ Arsenal a couple of games before the end of the season secured them their 18th league title. (Arsenal have 13, I think, with the last title coming six years ago. The Invincibles. Happy days! Ok, so we didn’t win a lot, but we didn’t lose, and the whole point of football is not losing. Oh no wait, the point is to win… Hmmm. Regardless, they were invincible! Whoooopeee! 49 games! In your face Sir Whiskey Nose! Aha!) Honestly, I don’t really know anything about being a sporting journalist, but the good ol’ Daily Mail have been kind enough to fund my lavish lifestyle, hanging out of Simon Cowell’s arse and occasionally visiting my hospitality box at the Emirates. Oh, and I am a cunt.

Piers Morgan: I’ve enjoyed some spectacular experiences while writing this column. A private meeting in Barbados with Sir Garry Sobers, the greatest living cricketer, and Freddie Flintoff (along with Sir Ian Botham, my favourite living cricketer) was incredible. As was opening the batting on my village pitch with Kevin Pietersen the day after he’d captained England at Lord’s.

And watching Shane Warne, the best bowler ever, give my three sons a 30-minute guide to cricket in the Sky commentary box during a rain-break during the 2009 Edgbaston Test. Not to mention Freddie taking us all into the England dressing room that day, introducing us to the team and giving us all signed bats.

There was the surreal dinner with Lewis Hamilton and P Diddy during which I discovered they’re both Gooners, getting drunk with Frank Lampard (such a nice bloke, for a Chelsea player) and introducing him to Christine Bleakley, exchanging regular hilarious text banter with Rio Ferdinand (who is, as he would say, a ‘top geezer’), having Rod Stewart lecture me on Arsenal’s back four and giving me a Celtic tie, and Jerry Springer introducing me to Muhammad Ali in LA.

Other highlights include spending three hours in Harry Redknapp’s stunning house in Sandbanks and hearing him enthuse about football in a way that convinced me he should be England manager; hitting the kerb, hard, while driving David Coulthard round the Monaco Grand Prix track; and watching his mate Jenson Button win the drivers’ title nine months after we chatted at Amanda Holden’s wedding, when he’d lost his car after Honda pulled out of Formula One and he had ‘not a clue’ whether he’d get one again.

Translation: Bla bla bla bla, name drop, bla bla bla bla, name drop, bla bla bla bla, name drop, bla bla bla bla, name drop. Oh, and I am a cunt.

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You’ll be sad to learn that this is Piers Morgan’s last weekly column with The Daily Mail. I know, I know, it’s a hard thing to take in. He’s got such an incredible football knowledge, gives such an insightful view to this sport we adore and all in all, is just better than us. With his expensive wine, celebrity friends and talent show panel status, it’s hard to ignore what an incredible human being this man he is, and I know I’m not alone in saying my life will be worse now that I don’t get to read his inspiring words.

So Piers Morgan, God bless you and good luck with whatever world changing project you take on next. Whether that be interviewing Kerry Katona or judging the entertainment value of a man cut shapes in to watermelons.

Oh, and you’re a cunt.