So we’re all in agreement, right? Vinicius Jr is a Grade-A twonk.
His little Ballon d’Or tantrum last week was a bigger embarrassment than Mason Mount’s Manchester United career, and rumour has it he’s pinning Rodri’s victory on racism, which is about as arrogant and classless as it gets without involving Conor McGregor or Joey Barton.
For a bloke at the forefront of the entirely noble fight against racist abuse in La Liga to come out with an utterly baseless smear like that is counterproductive lunacy, much like signing Kai Havertz to be your chief goalscorer.
Perhaps, ‘Vini’, the result had something to do with the fact that grandads like Olivier Giroud and Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang had more goal involvements than you did last season, you raging, narcissistic whinge bag!
It’s all well and good being a fabulous footballer, but when you’re also a spoilt perma-victim with the fragile ego of Cristiano Ronaldo after he misses a penalty, don’t be shocked when people start treating you like a bigger arse than Rikishi’s (Google it).
Forget the Ballon d’Or, the only award that man deserves is the Bellen d’Or!
(Image: M Gracia Jimenez/Soccrates/Getty Images)
Ballon b’Ore
I don’t get Michael Owen. How can someone so inoffensive, so baby-faced, and so utterly nondescript be so annoying.
Forget his woeful punditry for a minute – that shouldn’t be hard considering he’s about as insightful as a dead badger – what I really can’t stand is his annual, ‘Hey, remember when I won the Ballon d’Or, guys?’ posts on social media.
With all the subtlety of a hippo on roller skates, Owen spams photos of the trophy in his cabinet every bleedin’ year like he’s David Brent bragging about winning the Slough Branch Manager of the Year award (*glances at a nearby camera*).
He even changed his profile picture to one of him clutching the prize like it was the last shred of his dignity. It just reeks of a man so insecure about his legacy that he makes Troy ‘I could have played for Real Madrid’ Deeney look humble by comparison.
Not as s-Mart as he think he is
(Image: James Baylis – AMA/Getty Images)
I’ve absolutely had it with Martin Keown. Listening to that man is like eating cold, unsalted porridge – it’s just a bland, anticlimactic experience all round.
But what I hate more than Everton hate financial stability is his peculiar way of speaking. He has this bizarre, almost exaggerated intensity, like he’s telling a toddler why he shouldn’t stick his fingers into plug sockets, or telling Timo Werner what the big net behind the goalkeeper is for.
There’s a patronising idiocy to him that only Tim Sherwood can rival. He obviously fancies himself as some sort of scholarly analytical whizz, but the points he makes are even simpler than Cole Palmer.