The Summer of No One Gets What They Want

By Nicol Hay

Europe is enjoying a heat wave, the Confederations Cup was the greatest summer tournament since records began, and every club is spending money like Kanye in Mothercare. So why is the major theme of this transfer window one of crushing disappointment? 

All winter long, football fans yearn for the irritating formality of men kicking balls around pitches to get itself over with so the real business of paper talk, In The Know intrigue and opinion pieces on the inevitable economic collapse of football if something isn’t done about these bloated transfer fees can begin. All those boring Saturday afternoons spent wistfully staring past your inept right back’s attempts to play a pass and remember which colour his teammates are wearing at the same time are just counting down to the moment when the June-August bonanza drops a steaming dose of moneyed potential into your life.

And this summer, it’s been all for naught. Every major club made their careful plans, only to see them dashed.

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anonymous asked:

2, 25, 28.

2. Come avresti voluto chiamarti? Me ne piacciono diversi, tipo Chiara, Nicole, Aurora

25. Hai alcune fobie? Se sì, quali?  Fobia degli aghi sicuramente al primo posto. Non riesco neanche a guardare una ferita chirurgica ormai cicatrizzata. Poi ho la fobia dei ragni, di alcuni insetti

28. Cosa vuoi per il tuo compleanno? Ho già compiuto i 18 anni ad aprile e nelle settimane precedenti, parlando con mio cugino che abita in Canada, gli dicevo che mi mancava tanto e l’ho invitato scherzando alla mia festa, consapevole del fatto che fossimo troppo distanti. Sapete cos’ha fatto? è andato a prenotare il volo per la settimana successiva e mi ha fatto una sorpresa. Giuro che era l’ultima cosa che mi aspettassi, stavo tipo per cadere a terra quando mi ha aperto la porta di casa. Sono stata a fissarlo una sera intera perché non potevo credere ai miei occhi. E’ stato il regalo più bello di tutti

anonymous asked:

Angelica e Nicolò

“Perché se hai qualcuno che ti ama, non corri il rischio di morire solo come un cane. Se hai qualcuno che ti ama, forse ti salvi.”


This is not José Mourinho

By Nicol Hay

Picture José Mourinho. Now let me guess what’s in your head. 

I think the José in your mind is raising his fists, celebrating another crushing of a weaker opponent. He is wearing a luxurious winter coat over a suit so finely tailored it would be impossible for any other man to wear it. Yes, his ego shines through – but it is backed up by the imperious display of towering athletes so devoted to his guidance that they perform unbelievable feats in roles they would otherwise consider beneath their skill. You love him, you hate him, he is indifferent. The José in your mind is in total control of a team and a club that expresses his personality completely.

Now look at the Stamford Bridge touchline. You see that man in the crumpled sportswear, peripheral to the game in front of him? The man with all of the rage, but none of the fire?

This is not José Mourinho.

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