BILLINGSGATE POST: After the decisive win over Newcastle, [Redacted] sat down with Dr. Billingsgate to have a chat that transcended the ordinary breathless interviews conducted by weasel-nosed, pinch mouth androgynous heifers from the local UK stations.
Dr. B: I notice that when you score a goal, you immediately beat your chest like a Banshee ragpicker before lifting your leg and peeing on the leg of the goalkeeper. I know this really excites your fans. But is this really necessary?
[Redacted]: As you are probably aware, I score very few goals. Are you sure that I did that? I find it very difficult to believe that the goalkeeper would allow such outlandish behavior to occur. Where were the officials?
Dr. B: Now that you have settled in with Manchester United, do you feel that the Manchester patrons who heckle you are more visceral than those who heckled you when you played for Leicester?
[Redacted]: Those who expected me to turn around a club managed by a no-nothing whiner should have their tickets confiscated and refused entry to Old Trafford. They call it “The Theatre of Dreams.” It has been a nightmare for me.
Dr. B: You call Ole Gunnar a “no-nothing whiner.” Why so?
[Redacted]: Just look at the sorry bastard. It would help if he spoke English without that sing-song Norwegian accent. Every time we lose, he mopes around like a jilted teenager. Blames me for everything. Calls me the most overrated, overpriced player in the league.
Dr. B: Perhaps he is right.
With that, [Redacted] lifted his leg; but Dr. Billingsgate, sensing what might be forthcoming, ended the interview with his customary elan:
“A rousing conversation, Old Man.”
Slim: “Those Brits are certainly thin-skinned.”
Dirty: “Yo, Dude. Stiff upper-lip, my ass.”
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