Vicious, fruity
old Bobby Robson is not pleased, he laboriously plucks cherries from
an alabaster bowl, the physio emitting shrieks of pleasure as dogs
rub their genitals against his pale European skin.
Bolton halt their
rotten run of four straight league defeats and puncture pompous Newcastle's
ever-congealing hopes of regaining fourth place with a slender, supple
win at the Reebok stadium.
Henrik Pedersen's
early goal proves the difference, but Bolton waltz with danger like
an hysterical faggot pulling grubs from beneath his skin with infected
tweezers. They also have goalkeeper Jussi Jaaskelainen to thank after
a string of outstanding saves. Time and again, the gangly Finn erupts
from his skin to pull the ball into his arms... the thought of fumbling
the ball does not occur to Jaaskelainen, although he is not obliged
to keep Bolton in the game single-handedly.
Pedersen ruthlessly
exploits 18-year-old full-back Steven Taylor's mistake to lob Shay
Given from an unlikely angle, the ball spurting over the line in a
perfect arc, like the first ejaculation of semen from a Moroccan adolescent.
The rancid stench
of spiritual vileness hangs over Sir Bobby's team, who squander
their numerous chances to equalise.
After the game
I wander into the steel enamel maze of the press box and ask to speak
to the Newcastle boss... the secretary fixes me with a milky smile...
all the while she is thinking of Nazis penetrating her borders and
occupying her vacant libido.
"Mr Robson
will see you now," she purrs. The old fruit is sitting down and
his eyes are lustfully level with my own genitals.
"Hurrumph,
you will do," he groans, his white hair flapping in a parody
of wisdom."You know of course what we are trying. Champion's
League. To adjust the team - simply a tool - to the needs of the greater
good. To suppress individual errors."
But Robson cannot
explain Pedersen - nor does he try to. The film replays as if in a
dream. Chasing Simon Charlton's fictitious punt, Pedersen stops the
impish Taylor from heading back to Shay Given before expelling the
loose ball into the air from a narrow angle. The
ball clears the clownish Given, bouncing high into the top left-hand
corner. The crowd applauds. Caesar rises from the ashes, his thumb
erect in a burlesque of appreciation.
Green grass turns
black in a pink explosion of flashbulbs... the camera obscura replays
the moment on a mammoth scale... lions tear into the flesh of Bellamy,
Shearer... Lua Lua, away on loan to Portsmouth, shudders in mock ecstasy....