Jose Mourinho’s reign at Roma is only six months old, but we’ve already reached the “humiliating the players by comparing them to eunuchs” stage.
Following his side’s 2-0 cup defeat to Inter, the Special One was all smiles for the cameras, praising his team for “playing well against a team against whom it’s not easy to play well”.
But back in the dressing room, he ripped the mask off and gave the little punks a full-on Hitler in the bunker bollocking.
In a leaked audio of the rant, Mourinho told his squad:
I want to know why, playing face to face with Inter, you shit yourself within the first 10 minutes!
And then I want to know why you again shit yourself against Milan in under 10 minutes! All of you! No exceptions!
I want to know why from two years you have shown yourselves (to be) small versus the greats. If we are small, the refs will treat us as small!
They treat Roma like it is small! Inter is a super squad, you had them in front of you and instead of finding the right motivations, you shit yourselves! The greatest defect of a man is the lack of balls, of personality.
Are you afraid of this kind of match? Then go play in Serie C, you won’t find any teams with champions, top stadia, the pressures of top football.
You’re people without balls, the worst thing for a man.
When Mercedes offered a tour of their F1 factory in a charity auction, they were probably expecting to welcome a harmless anorak, or an obese Kuwaiti princeling.
They certainly didn’t want the winning bid to come from Christian Horner, leader of their hated rivals, Red Bull.
Horner paid £4,000 at the Autosport Awards last Sunday for a “money can’t buy” trip to his foes’ Brackley HQ, and he confirmed he expects the tour to go ahead.
But Mercedes responded with the breezy joy you’d expect from people who spend their days thinking about torque demand – they blocked the visit because it doesn’t comply with their terms and conditions.
After pestering the Sky Sports pundit repeatedly, a slightly nervous public schoolboy named “John” phoned Neville to apologise, and did us the favour of recording the call.
“Oo the fook’s got my noomber?” demands Gaz repeatedly, while threatening to call the police.
Rattled, the prankster eventually pins it on Tony Adams son. “His son goes to Milfield School, and he knohws Henry, who’s given it to Ben Metcalfe, who goes to ah school,” he explains.
Neville, unimpressed, replies: “Shut up you fookin dick” before ordering John to bring him some names or face the long arm of the law.
Always good to hear from Rio Ferdinand, especially when he’s diving headfirst into the heavyweight issues of the day.
This week the former United defender asked his Twitter followers: “Why are there no openly gay footballers in the Premier League?”
Fair question, most people would agree. Unless you happen to be, er, Rio Ferdinand, who tweeted six months ago: “The fascination with the Qs ‘who is gay?’ or ‘why isn’t there a gay player in the Premier League?’ is part of the problem.”
We’re not sure which Rio to agree with, but we’d wager the main problem is the rampant homophobia among players and fans.
Take these comments from a legendary Premier League footballer on Radio 1: “That is not my bag that, that is not my game, talking about going out with geezers. You’re a faggot”.
Who would say such a thing? That would be former Man United defender… Rio Ferdinand!
As Australia eats itself over the ousting of coach Justin Langer, we are reminded that there is nothing more nauseating than the Baggy Green™ crew in full swing.
Langer and his pals are angry he lost the job despite on-field success, which does seem a little harsh until you recall his woodpecker management style and constant clamour for “no abuse but plenty of banter”, laid bare in Amazon doc The Test.
But his former captain Steve Waugh doesn’t agree, and he made his case in a series of impassioned Instagram posts, where he claimed the decision “doesn’t add up.”
Waugh was ably supported by trusty old bootlickers like Adam Gilchrist, who added his insight – “nicely said, skip” – in the comments below.
In Australia, these moments of self-reflection seem to bring out a strange a mix of management consultancy platitudes and stag do familiarity, leading to phrases like Langer’s infamous “Elite Mateship” motto.
Even the usually likeable captain Pat Cummins was at it this week, indulging in some horrendous baggy green bingo as he defended his team by referring to “the sanctity of the change room” and “duty to our mates”.
And then there’s Langer’s best pal, ‘Matty’ Hayden. Haydos to his mates. A bloke who dresses like Toadfish Rebecchi and speaks like an unsuccessful applicant to the McKinsey grad scheme.
“Appalling,” was his verdict, to which he added the warning: “You’re going to have a warrior in Justin Langer who may never want to get back into the fortress of Cricket Australia.”
Even by Haydos’ standards, that’s absolute drivel, although it doesn’t quite beat his claim that cricket “has got such a huge role to play in terms of the stability of mankind”.
It’s this veneration of cricket that leads Australians, usually celebrated for their informality, to do dramatic shit like cry in press conferences, hold solemn team meetings about “banter”, and yes, wear their baggy greens to Wimbledon.
And it’s why, despite his obvious talents, we pray to God Langer doesn’t wash up on these shores next. British sport already has enough “pride in the jersey” bollocks to go round.
