It's worth a few more words than I'm willing to commit to at the moment. And no, the man hasn't died, retired or been shipped to Yeovil.
Eduardo completed his transfer to Shaktar Donetsk this week. Lots to go into this move and while he's painting a happy face, it's one of those deals that leaves you ruefully thinking of what could have been. As such, I've been poking around, rather eager to click a link here or there and see what people have to say about his transfer.
I like Eduardo. I've always liked him. He seemed a great personality as the classic good guy. Couldn't really fault him for too much and he gave us buckets of fun times simply through his affable style and the overwhelming resemblance we noted when he first came on board to Prince in all his 1984 pomp. We've played the shit out of "Purple Rain" ever since he joined the Arsenal. At the Emirates, of course, the team comes out to Elvis' "Wonder of You." That's fun and all but at our pub when the team wins, we crank "Purple Rain" to a level that lets the folks four blocks down hear it. Pulsing, folks. Eduardo stirs the emotions.
Just search through the blog under "Do It For Eduardo". That whole ethos gave me one of the best summers of my life.
Maybe I can re-channel that spirit and we can "Do it for Eduardo!" again to create some more spirited laughs and fun as his footballing spirit drifts away from us this month.
At any rate, as I clicked and looked for a few sordid transfer rumours that would doubtless be dismissed by the time I finished reading the article, much less the headline, I made the mistake of reading the Daily Mail.
And this ...
Here's a sample ...
Eduardo da Silva joined Arsenal with a big reputation after heading Steve McClaren towards the sack as England manager. But four years on from his goal for Croatia in that Euro 2008 qualifier in Zagreb, he is leaving the Emirates like many before him: with his name almost as badly shattered as the bones in the ankle he infamously broke at Birmingham.
And there's this too ...
he is not the first to stumble under the weight of expectation.
Now, (he says with a deep breath) we take great effort to keep things clean over here at Match Pricks. For the most part. And trust me, it can be difficult. But if you read that article, even scan through it, I think you can permit me, in this instance to crank up the volume (I have to think Jim would completely agree on this one). So ...
Fuck you, Daily Mail. Fuck. You. That was nothing more than a heaping pile of whale shit. Go fuck yourselves. I'd say you should be ashamed but you're useless bottom-feeding fucks who clearly aren't equipped with the naturally ability to provide the scant level of critical analysis necessary to think enough to get through a day. Fuck you.
I prefer to think of the Eduardo in the photo up top here. A guy that everyone rooted for. A guy that made us happy. And a guy who had the carpet pulled out from underneath him who kept fighting and kept smiling.
Posts
