All this outrage about Lee Carsley not singing the national anthem is absolute nonsense. Chelsea-getting-away-with-selling-a-hotel-to-themselves-levels of nonsense.
Now I’m not one of these anti-traditionalist bores who act like they hate England more than Tottenham act like they hate trophies, but if someone skipping a singalong makes your blood boil then you’re a bigger waste of space than the weight room in Steve Bruce’s house.
I mean for goodness sake, we let Wayne Rooney get away with not singing it for years. Though in fairness he probably never worked out what the words were.
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Besides, context is obviously key here. Carsley earned 40 caps for Ireland, and we all know the Irish are as sensitive as Reece James’ hamstrings when it comes to national loyalty (more on that later).
Like Kyle Walker, he’s battling split allegiances, though his are between countries rather than marital commitments. At the end of the day, it’s exactly what Manchester United are since Fergie left: not that big a deal.
What do you make of Lee Carsley not singing the national anthem? Let us know in the comments section below
(Image: Alex Livesey – UEFA/UEFA via Getty Images)
Irish folk whingers
I’m absolutely tickled pink that Declan Rice and Jack Grealish scored England’s goals against Ireland. I’m not anti-Irish by any means. What I’m ‘anti’ is fully grown Irish adults behaving like petulant children squabbling over the last Capri-Sun.
The fact that Rice and Grealish are still public enemies Nos. 1 and 2 across the Irish Sea makes me laugh harder than Sam Allardyce when Chico Flores takes a tumble (if you don’t get that reference, Google it and thank me later).
They might have played a few matches for Ireland’s youth sides but both of them are as English as a Benedict Cumberbatch-themed tea set. Being angry about them defecting back to Blighty is like being angry about your neighbour asking for his lawnmower back.
Neither man owes Ireland a damn thing, and their fans need to get a grip more than United need to get a new medical department.
International br-ache
Mid-season international breaks can absolutely get stuffed. Whichever nutcase thought organising one after just three Premier League games was a smart idea deserves a slap more than Jude Bellingham does whenever he pulls out his self-satisfied, arms-out ‘It’s all about me’ goal celebration.
Imagine being handed a sizzling steak at a restaurant, but right as you’re about to dig in, the waitress yanks it away and says, “Sorry, wrong table – enjoy your breadsticks!” That’s what international breaks feel like.
They’re the un-skippable YouTube adverts of football. The sporting embodiment of the phrase: We’re currently experiencing an unusually high volume of calls, but please stay on the line.
They can try and dress the Nations League up like a fancy tournament all they like, but everyone knows it’s about as prestigious and enjoyable to watch as pre-2009 Manchester City. Let’s put a stop to this bore-fest!