We never win away.
Sam Allardyce a placid bull who has just seen a large insect fly fast and straight up his massive wet hooter; Alvaro Negredo a raging bull going for a brisk trot through a field of daisies. His shot to the bar a piece of venomous beauty that goes unrewarded. Bu there will be reward in another world.
Silva, Fernandinho dance the foxtrot, but way too fast for Messrs Nolan and Noble, the Haircut Brothers. Home defenders manage same level of intimacy with City's pacy, elusive strikers as this correspondent has with Natalie Portman. Chase chase chase and end up panting.
Aleksander Kolarov strutting around like Field Marshall Josep Tito in one of his most coherent periods. I shall go to High Society Plzen to be with Liza Spuner and to see Manchester City in the Champions League!
All around tiny darting poets. They are speaking softly to us in rhyme and verse. Believe in us, they whisper, for there is magic in the air.
We sometimes win away.
For what really happened (almost) read on here
Links and tributes:
- The Women and Loves of Josep Broz Tito
- How The Wrong People Get a Hold of Pens and Pencils To Write About Fernandinho After Just Two Games
- One of the Haircut Brothers Knows Who's Best and it's not Ozil
- All Your Gnawing Noah's Ark Doubts Explained here by a man with far too much time on his hands who has been dabbling with recreational drugs