‘Only weirdos care that Thomas Tuchel is a foreigner – he is precisely what England want’
Why are people getting so precious about England’s manager needing to be English?
I thought I’d crashed a Tommy Robinson pep rally the morning Thomas Tuchel got the job given the Jacob Rees-Mogg-levels of Little Englanding going on online.
You had fierce Guardianistas like Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher moaning about “them foreigns” like a couple of mad old racists sipping Worthington’s in the dusty corner of a Dunstable pub – despite the fact they’d have definitely been giddier than Micah Richards on laughing gas if Pep or Klopp had got the nod instead.
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Then there were the whinge-bag fans complaining about the loss of England’s “identity”. Which is what exactly? Playing “4-4-fackin’-2” and praying we draw pub teams in the knockouts? Foreign managers aren’t illegal. And if you think they should be, why stop there? I hear there’s a Scottish (*spits*) tea lady at St George’s Park. Release the hounds!
Besides, I don’t remember this uproar when Sarina ‘wooden clogs’ Wiegman joined the Lionesses, though that’s probably because even the loudest, nasalliest of virtue-signallers care as much about women’s football as Avram Glazer does about fixing leaky roofs.
After eight years of dear old Mr Drab, it’s time for a proper Schweinehund. Sure, it might blow up in everyone’s faces, but what could possibly be more English than that?
Does England’s manager need to be English? Let us know what you think in the comments section below.
(Image: The FA via Getty Images)
They neVAR stop whining
You know what I can’t stand? The way VAR has turned just about every football manager into an entitled muppet. Sure, the whole ‘blame the officials rather than my awful tactics’ shtick is as old as Des Lynam’s ‘tache, but coaches these days treat every contentious call like a criminal offence.
Take Gary O’Neil for example. After Wolves conceded what, at best, could be described as a slightly iffy goal against Manchester City, he mentioned how he’d “managed to stay calm” and would be “sending evidence” to the PGMOL.
Give over Gary, you self-important numpty. Your grandmother wasn’t assaulted on the street, you conceded a set-piece goal that, five years ago, would have been about as controversial as N’Golo Kante’s face.
The woe-is-me stuff is annoying enough, but doing it while acting all righteous because you decided not to throw a fit and dropkick Chris Kavanagh in the chest is more grating than a Steve McManaman-themed smoke alarm.
They refereeally love themselves
What’s with this epidemic of toned, well-groomed referees? Honestly, they all look like a bunch of nerdy Love Island rejects.
Am I jealous? Probably. But I also think a load of glorified gym teachers prancing around with their tight shorts, unnecessarily bulky arms and perfectly sculpted hair, thinking they’re Johnny Big-Time because Guardiola knows their name is as hilariously pathetic as Michael Owen’s punditry.
After all, most of them have about as much sex appeal as Ange Postecoglou after a curry.
