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DamanC

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Are we having an entrance fee and prize money this season then? Make it a bit more interesting. Doesn't have to be a lot, say £5 or £10 ?

 

I think it is a good idea. It will keep people interested. 50 x 10 is £500. You are exempt thou! ;)

 

I would like to try to get it sponsored too, with perhaps some goodies to win.

 

Peoples thoughts? Would you be happy to pay £10 to enter?

 

If there is seroious objection then I cant see any harm in having 2 leagues. 1 for fun and a second with a enterance fee.......

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And so, with deep loaded sighs, it's back. The new Premier League season begins on Saturday and Nuts Magazine (who are strapping, masculine blokes and therefore genetically disposed to loving football even more than they are disposed to loving Keeley Hazel's cleavage, drinking alcohol until they're sick and Top Gear's Power Lap round) can hardly wait, equating this monumental event with 'catching up with an old mate down the boozer'.

 

Presumably that means us and the Premier League are going to be sat opposite one another in a deserted Weatherspoons speaking with overegged jocularity, benign smiles affixed unconvincingly upon our weary faces, fiddling self consciously with the beer mats and hearing all about its new job and the part time evening course it's thinking about beginning at the local community college. Which sounds about right; perhaps it would be easier to ignore The Premiership's phone calls and delete it from our Facebook friends list; a little cruel, maybe, but anything to avoid another nine months of mundane small talk punctured only by the occasional awkward silence.

 

Perhaps some of the more eager members of our group can be forgiven their excitement. There's an episode of 'Seinfeld' where, having being mistaken by a tourist by a woman he's interested in, George comes up with the idea of 'moving in' to his home city and condensing his entire New York existence into a few days time span, reasoning, "if you squeeze all my accomplishment into a single weekend, it doesn't look so bad"; and anybody who has caught any of Sky's 'Premiership Years' shows over the last week will understand his logic.

 

To watch these shows tell it, the Premiership is a constant mass of fireworks and excitement and top of the table clashes. When we're not admiring goals flying in from beyond impossible angles to a soundtrack of mass adulation, we're chuckling heartedly over a playful tussle involving a club mascot and a fourth official. All bright lights and screeching soundbites, Sky have even played a neat trick with the mass brawls that populate many a Premier league clash: replacing the blustering and hysterical hectoring of a summariser demanding the return of the birch with a Dizzy Rascal tune and making a bloody good montage out of things renders the sight of Robbie Savage biting an Aston Villa midfielder's kneecap seem more playful and amusing than malicious.

 

In reality, of course, the Premiership is a slog; a maddening and seemingly never ending traipse through a soporific wasteland of stupid points dropped at home, Saturday morning kick offs and Andy Gray shouting at you. And unless you support Chelsea (and if you do, you have your own problems to consider, namely the fact you go around your life being correctly labelled a 'Chelsea supporter') your team won't win it.

 

Manchester United, minus their coach and their best player until October, are carrying themselves with the same smug and miss-guided cockiness usually associated a newly widowed and fully alibi-ed up member of the Bourgeoisie upon their first encounter with Lt. Columbo and Fergie's fooling nobody with his glib dismissal of Chelsea's chances. At Arsenal, Arsene Wenger isn't so much rebuilding his team as taking a long and glumly concerned stare at it, making no promises about being able to have the new water heater put in by the weekend and Liverpool are substance less to the point of being a gas. A fine player Robbie Keane, but not one who will win you a championship and Rafa's boys will perform their usual trick of hovering around looking a bit interested early on before falling off and struggling in the crucial mid October-late April stage of the season.

 

Villa and Spurs are set to compete in some sort of mildly embarrassed 'race for fifth place', not so much a Clash of Titans as an overheated argument on the way home about the fairest way to split the cost of the taxi. Everton and Newcastle United both have the vague look of 'club in crisis' headlines by mid-October and Manchester City's crisis is arriving armed with rather less subtle nuance, coming, as it is, in the form of arrest warrants and frozen assets (a tragic situation which will no doubt evoke great sympathy from all the Human rights lobbyists dismissed last year by City fans as tiresome spoilsports attempting to take the shine off their bright start under the Shinawatra regime). Portsmouth, Fulham and West Ham will flutter around inoffensively, all bland and inconsequential and 'nice', the type of teams you like but not in that way, and 'Boro will continue to be the subject of one of life's great imponderables: if a tree falls in the forest and only Middlesbrough Football Club are there to hear it, does it still make a sound?

 

Down at the bottom, perennial yo-yo club Sunderland will be looking to scale the same dizzying heights as last year's fifteenth, Stoke will be viewing the notion of 'doing a Derby' as positively romantic and Hull City will be squandering any good will they may have gained from an impressive promotion by allowing Dean Windass to carry on in his campaign as unofficial spokesman for tedious bores everywhere. If you browse around for some of his close season interviews, it becomes grimly obvious Dean has been studying Ian Holloway's 'Bumper Book of Mildly Misogynistic Analogies'. He will no doubt be looking forward to comparing coming off the bench and scoring to 'copping off with a fit girl!', relishing the prospect of equating losing 3-2 after getting back to 2-2 with 'copping off with a fit bird-and losing her phone number!!' and positively salivating at the opportunity to forge a tenuous link between going down on the last day despite winning your fixture as 'copping off with a fit bird-and your missus finding out!!!'. Meanwhile over at Ewood, with The Guv'Nor's body language increasingly screaming "what the hell am I doing here?" Blackburn may well find this year a bit of a struggle. Or they might not. It doesn't really matter.

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