Cover! Cover!! Coverrrr!!!!
So it is adios then to you, Javier Garrido, with your varnished black hair and your unfathomable urge to be a right winger. You are Lazio's first choice now, you know. How did it come to this? Do they not have scouts in the blue half of Rome? Maybe they really are bankrupt in both financial and cerebral terms. Mind you, you do come 15 million big ones cheaper than old Mr Kolarov...and there's obviously no accounting for taste.
You flew down the pitch like one assisted by gale force winds and a strong conviction, but you never came back. Not at least with the same stride, the same purpose, the same rapidity. Your little sector became a grazing area for all sorts, wingers, midfielders, reliant robins, even Raoul Moat was seen skulking through at one point, and Gazza with his chicken and his fishing rod, when you were far far away up the other end and on the other side of the pitch.
|an unusual sight|
We will miss the dawning realisation that the small figure high on the right side of midfield waving his arms around is in fact you, our chosen left back for the day. The scarper back. The shake of the head. The waving arm at Stevie Ireland. "This is where I wanted the through ball!!". Through ball?! The Touré Lescott circus combo trying to cover your ample space at not-quite-fast-enough speed, the gaiety and joy as Fulham/Liverpool/Tottenham hit the post instead of scoring. The laughter, the hilarity, the rank absurdity of it all. The heavy dawning that once again you will be dropped for next week and we will watch a different kind of expert in Wayne Bridge.
But most of all we'll miss those spectacular moments in the pub afterwards, when the win has been sealed and we have got away with it all; lifting a frothing pint and laughing out loud to your completely unknown neighbour "...and what the hell was Garrido doing right up there...?!!!!"