Voor Alle Goede Dingen
Some are still surprised by the showers of rain, the elongated vowels, the failing eyesight and the early creep of the dark. Van Nistelrooy, however, is not surprised by any of this. That is, Van Nistelrooy, the overly-sensitive creep (a different kind of creep) of footballing fame and zen.
Not caring anything about football, this creep Van Nistelrooy is free to roam as much as he pleases – his footballness means nothing here. Except for those moments when he will be required to, as they say, put one in the back of the net. Or to help stop one going in the back of his own net. I forget (or rather, I never knew in the first place) his position.
Forward Van Nistelrooy is a lightning zip between legs and a dance over thousands of pairs of what seem like – in the face of his lightning zippiness etc. - boots of iron. The ball, here. Van Nistelrooy, there. Miles between them. But zip. Oh yes, the back of the net my son!
Or Van Nistelrooy in defence, facing down his opponents with all the courage and strength of a - a what? - a kind of, y’know, a kind of a Dutch grizzly bear. Look at him. I wouldn’t want to tackle that. No way.
Do they still say tackle?
I’ve just looked him up. A big-chinned fucker. Good looking in the way that a bit of money and expert grooming can make any droopy-eyed, big-chinned fucker seem good looking. He’s a striker. A goal scorer. I’ve no idea how he, or his team, Manchester United, are doing at the moment. There was a noise, I noticed, about him going to AC Milan at the end of the season. About how he’s definitely (not) going to AC Milan.
Let him go. Who cares?
Van Nistelrooy has got one of those funny little sponsorship cars that he drives around the city, advertising the sights and sounds of Club Patankin, Med DJ nights and something called Pole Dance Sunbathing. The basic principle being: We’ll bathe you in our unique ultra violet solar light while you writhe around exotically – erotically – naked, of course – for the benefit of our male – and no doubt some female – club punters. What you get in return is a free tan – a free all-over tan – while we get happy punters and no money going from our bank account into yours. Winners all.
Van Nistelrooy’s agent has negotiated, with advertising and marketing people, all kinds of superb contracts and deals that will net him something in the region of three million pounds. These deals and things mainly involve him, Van Nistelrooy, hauling his arse around the country to turn up to every tin pot gala, event and opening. Plus adding his name and image to things like Fray Bentos and Spuds ‘R’ Us.
At home and in his spare time, Van Nistelrooy likes to listen to audio recordings of poets reading their own work. He especially likes the recording of TS Eliot booming his way through The Waste Land. While driving, however, he favours only the tones of Robert Frost reading various of his poems, including The Road Not Taken. With adverts for clubs, DJs and pole dancing on the side of his car - along with Robert Frost on the stereo - Van Nistelrooy driving is, as anyone can see, a most preposterous and unlikely figure.
However, apparently, on the football field he is something else entirely. Forbidden from wearing his iPod, and thus deprived of his beloved poets, Van Nistelrooy has no choice but to apply himself to the matter in hand.
Some essential stats:
Games Played: 290.
Games Won: 289.
Games Lost: 1.
Goals Scored: 98,000.
Hair Colour: Dark brown.
Chin: Thick, bulky, shadow casting, obvious.
Club: Manchester of England and Dutch national of Holland international.
Music: Alexander O’Neal, Curly Watts, Nicholas van Hoogstraten.
Films: Luger, Blind Date, In The Interest of the State, Submission.
Cartoons: Anna & Bella, The Water People, Tomfoolery.
Yellow Pages: Amsterdam, 1977-78 & Lisbon, 1989-90.
Chicken: Deep fried, in breadcrumbs, peppered.
Mint Sauce: Sainsbury’s Finest.
Wife: Leontine Van Nistelrooy.
Bath Tub: Victorian, Armitage Shanks.
Fruit-based Dessert: Apple beignets.
Curling Tongs: Russell Hobbs.
Frat Boys: John, Clem, Divvy and Deek.
Mouse Holes: Two in the kitchen, one in the hall.
Eggs: Free range. Half a dozen.
Greek Myth: The Labours of Heracles.
Spider-Man: John Romita.
Not caring anything about football, this creep Van Nistelrooy is free to roam as much as he pleases – his footballness means nothing here. Except for those moments when he will be required to, as they say, put one in the back of the net. Or to help stop one going in the back of his own net. I forget (or rather, I never knew in the first place) his position.
Forward Van Nistelrooy is a lightning zip between legs and a dance over thousands of pairs of what seem like – in the face of his lightning zippiness etc. - boots of iron. The ball, here. Van Nistelrooy, there. Miles between them. But zip. Oh yes, the back of the net my son!
Or Van Nistelrooy in defence, facing down his opponents with all the courage and strength of a - a what? - a kind of, y’know, a kind of a Dutch grizzly bear. Look at him. I wouldn’t want to tackle that. No way.
Do they still say tackle?
I’ve just looked him up. A big-chinned fucker. Good looking in the way that a bit of money and expert grooming can make any droopy-eyed, big-chinned fucker seem good looking. He’s a striker. A goal scorer. I’ve no idea how he, or his team, Manchester United, are doing at the moment. There was a noise, I noticed, about him going to AC Milan at the end of the season. About how he’s definitely (not) going to AC Milan.
Let him go. Who cares?
Van Nistelrooy has got one of those funny little sponsorship cars that he drives around the city, advertising the sights and sounds of Club Patankin, Med DJ nights and something called Pole Dance Sunbathing. The basic principle being: We’ll bathe you in our unique ultra violet solar light while you writhe around exotically – erotically – naked, of course – for the benefit of our male – and no doubt some female – club punters. What you get in return is a free tan – a free all-over tan – while we get happy punters and no money going from our bank account into yours. Winners all.
Van Nistelrooy’s agent has negotiated, with advertising and marketing people, all kinds of superb contracts and deals that will net him something in the region of three million pounds. These deals and things mainly involve him, Van Nistelrooy, hauling his arse around the country to turn up to every tin pot gala, event and opening. Plus adding his name and image to things like Fray Bentos and Spuds ‘R’ Us.
At home and in his spare time, Van Nistelrooy likes to listen to audio recordings of poets reading their own work. He especially likes the recording of TS Eliot booming his way through The Waste Land. While driving, however, he favours only the tones of Robert Frost reading various of his poems, including The Road Not Taken. With adverts for clubs, DJs and pole dancing on the side of his car - along with Robert Frost on the stereo - Van Nistelrooy driving is, as anyone can see, a most preposterous and unlikely figure.
However, apparently, on the football field he is something else entirely. Forbidden from wearing his iPod, and thus deprived of his beloved poets, Van Nistelrooy has no choice but to apply himself to the matter in hand.
Some essential stats:
Games Played: 290.
Games Won: 289.
Games Lost: 1.
Goals Scored: 98,000.
Hair Colour: Dark brown.
Chin: Thick, bulky, shadow casting, obvious.
Club: Manchester of England and Dutch national of Holland international.
Music: Alexander O’Neal, Curly Watts, Nicholas van Hoogstraten.
Films: Luger, Blind Date, In The Interest of the State, Submission.
Cartoons: Anna & Bella, The Water People, Tomfoolery.
Yellow Pages: Amsterdam, 1977-78 & Lisbon, 1989-90.
Chicken: Deep fried, in breadcrumbs, peppered.
Mint Sauce: Sainsbury’s Finest.
Wife: Leontine Van Nistelrooy.
Bath Tub: Victorian, Armitage Shanks.
Fruit-based Dessert: Apple beignets.
Curling Tongs: Russell Hobbs.
Frat Boys: John, Clem, Divvy and Deek.
Mouse Holes: Two in the kitchen, one in the hall.
Eggs: Free range. Half a dozen.
Greek Myth: The Labours of Heracles.
Spider-Man: John Romita.
posted by Paul Saxton at 4:31 PM
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