Category Archives: *Aaron Evans
By Aaron Evans
With some frequency many professional football players have been accused of thinking they are above the law. However this group of rapscallions have had to face up to their misbehavior with a stint in chokey. At some point or another most footballers creep on to the front pages of the daily tabs for some misdemeanor or another, be it sleazing up some tart from Grimsby or clouting a fan in a regional branch of Yates’s. But this lot take the biscuit and then punch the very same biscuit in the face! Read the rest of this entry
By Aaron Evans
I often lay awake at night wondering if Carlos Tevez is in fact an 8 year old girl. He appears to be the most sensitive man in the world. I would love to see the look on my manager’s face if I approached him with the possibility of me moving to our Torquay branch, because I want to be closer to my dear old uncle Simon. He would probably burst a blood vessel with uncontrollable laughter.
Have footballers become so molly coddled that they are actually regressing into childhood? Whatever next? Will we be seeing Drogba reading a Beano or Jose Mourinho breast-feeding Christiano Ronaldo? This would not surprise me in the slightest.
There is no doubt in my mind that Tevez is an exceptional talent, as an Arsenal fan I would welcome him in to our front line, however every two years or so he seems to want to play the victim. His contract is so big that he could buy a bedroom for each member of his family per week – why doesn’t he move his whole fucking village over to sunny Manchester? Are footballers so arrogant now-a-days that they expect their club to disrupt the earth’s tectonic plates and shift the continents, allowing their Daughter to see them kick a ball?
I hate to see myself sympathising with Man City but in this case I really do. They have done everything they can to make the Argentinean feel welcome, but little did they know that they were required to rock him to sleep at night and clean up his piss stained sheets when he wets the bed.
I made my first cup of tea when I was five years old – my mother knew that by training me young she had a child slave for the majority of my formative years. By the age of seven I could mow the lawn and hand wash her delicate silk dresses, if I moaned I was taken in to a private room and beaten with 19 centimetres of industrial piping.
Footballers need to take a big step back and realise what a privileged position they are in.
By Aaron Evans
I want to start this piece with a little disclaimer. I am in no way a misogynist nor do I have out dated views on both women and the empowerment of women. In fact I love women particularly their tits.
Over the last year we have seen some shocking behavior towards women in football, with Sky Sports stalwarts Richard Keys and Andy Gray unleashing their forked tongues over the airways. With the women’s World Cup under way I keep reading the same opinions, overreactions and views bubbling to the surface. Only today I was made to feel like a modern day Alf Garnett in pretty much all football media channels, why you ask? Because I don’t like watching women’s football.
I understand that this is a very delicate subject and I also feel women have the right and naturally the ability to play football, but not to the standard I am used to and expect. I am an Arsenal fan and we have the most successful woman’s football team in the history of the sport, however I have no interest – even at a time when Arsenal fans are desperate for some light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel.
No matter how hard the female strand of the beautiful game is marketed it never seems to bring in the punters – it’s an intriguing problem; it is after all the same game. Read the rest of this entry
By Aaron Evans
There is something about growing up that really saddens me. We get to 15 and all of a sudden we become way too cool for everything. We start worrying about what people think of us. When I was 7 I didn’t give a monkey’s what people thought of my hand knitted Mr T. sweater , it honestly didn’t bother me that I was wearing jelly sandals and had hair cut like a pre-pubescent Neil Morrisey. All I honestly cared about was my He-Man collection and my family – everything else was either ‘Poo’ or a ‘willy bum’.
To inject some much needed happiness in to my adult life, to escape the constant financial worry, and the stresses and strains of work and relationships, I decided to re-examine what made me happy as a seven year old. I started collecting comics again and it didn’t really work, I also bought a Dairy Lea triangle and a packet of Monster Munch and naturally it didn’t help. When buying a packet of cigarettes at my local petrol station I spotted a box of Premier League stickers nudging me in the part of the brain that processes sentiment. I took a deep breath and all of the worries of the world dissipated. Read the rest of this entry
By Aaron Evans
I often find it hard to articulate the exquisite pain experienced when an error is made by a referee against my beloved Arsenal. I think it sits neatly between blood vessel popping anger and the disappointment experienced when one misses a plane to a holiday destination, it’s frankly sickening.
We are constantly reminded that referees are human beings and I’m not wanting to open a debate on goal line technology (for that please see Referee 2.0), however I do want to talk about that rare breed of footballers – the honest ones! The ones that protest against a decision or stop play when someone is clearly hurt.
Even as a child we are taught at Sunday League level to go down in the box or shout for a throw in that clearly isn’t ours. It seems so common in the game that we almost expect it. With the pressure and oodles of money passing through the game, it almost seems that honesty is a costly and outdated notion. Read the rest of this entry