‘Anthony Gordon as a Barcelona megastar exhibits simply how laughable soccer has turn out to be’

BRENT A GOB: This week, Harry’s going after Barcelona for signing Anthony Gordon – and taking another swing at Arsenal following their Champions League final defeat

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Our man Harry Brent is raging in his latest column

Seeing Barcelona pay top dollar for someone like Anthony Gordon is like seeing your favourite boozer charge £7.50 for a Fosters. I mean, what a grim state of affairs.

Dropping £70million on him has all the financial sanity of a Todd Boehly trolley dash, and about as much footballing logic as playing Dan Burn at wing-back.

It’s nothing against Gordon particularly – other than the fact that he’s about as bog-standard as a Bruno Fernandes assist – but what has happened to Barcelona? They’ve gone from kings to court jesters faster than Usain Bolt can run the 100m.

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Back in the day, Barca only signed the crème de la crème from the Premier League: Thierry Henry, Cesc Fabregas, Luis Suarez. Now, they’re pinning their European hopes on a Scouser who is about as consistent as Donald Trump’s relationship with the truth.

One week he looks a handful, the next he’s anonymous. The fact that that’s enough to bag you a marquee move to the Camp Nou these days proves that the modern game is more warped than Ryan Giggs’ family values.

The idea of Gordon being held up as an elite, world class winger – tussling for the spotlight with Lamine Yamal – is as laughable as him being headhunted as a Calvin Klein model.

Just Ars they deserved

Let’s make one thing absolutely clear: Arsenal got exactly what they deserved in the Champions League final. The thought of Mikel Arteta’s side ending the season as both Premier League and European champions was more unsettling than a flirtatious text from Neil Warnock.

For the last six months, they’ve subjected us to a brand of football so mind-numbingly negative it gives Paul Scholes’ misery-guts punditry a serious run for its money.

Watching them whinge, dive, and time-waste their way to the greatest prize in club football would have been a bigger stain on the game than the Wagatha Christie saga.

Besides, they were handed a total joke of a knockout draw – one so staggeringly simple they might as well have named it Cole Palmer.

What made me laugh even more, though, was the sight of Arsenal fans sobbing about being “robbed” by the referee against PSG. Give me strength.

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It takes more than a hard-on for set pieces and parking the bus to reach the mountain top. Sure, Arsenal can defend valiantly, but going forward they look about as dangerous as David Moyes in a karate outfit.

PSG winning wasn’t just right for Arsenal’s rivals – it was right for football.

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