Writing about how boring international breaks are is arguably cliché now; but my god, the unabated yawn that propagated through the footballing world this weekend was horrifying to behold, like a herpes-fuelled knife through rancid butter. But it’s done now; we’ve descended that chasm, fed the Blatterian Devil its due, and can now let our retinas do a victorious conga at the prospect of imminent Premier League goodness.
Unlike when football took a break, which everyone and their panenka-loving grandmother noted, BigFourZa’s two-week hiatus has gone unnoticed save by two warring dogs outside my apartment and a postal worker in Slovakia. Noneth...

Leave a comment