So, Mourinho’s king of Europe once more, Holloway has guided the town of “Kiss me quick” to the Premier League and Chelsea have regained dominance of the Premier League.
Surely that’s enough for now?
Can’t we turn our backs on the beautiful game for a few precious weeks and, for example, reflect upon the joys of cricket or, dare I say it, rowing.
After all, what could there possibly be to draw our attention back to the world of football and away from these most gentlemanly of summer pursuits?
The answer is to be found all around when you look hard enough.
The two “gentlemen” bursting out of their garish blazers in the corner of the pavilion and looking with barely restrained contempt at the petite glasses of Pimm’s in their spade like hands while longing for a stiff drink preferably served in a pitcher (or a bucket) aren’t whispering about the results of the women’s eight or the lie of the croquet lawn.
Instead, they are talking about the if’s, buts and maybe’s that make up the ambiguous and, more often than not, suspicious, rumours that circulate around player and manager transfers in the off season.
Kaka’s proposed move to Burnley, Wigan’s surprise discovery of the Malawian wonderkid who scored 200 goals last season from midfield even though he’s blind in one eye and, most ridiculously, Gerrard staying with the Scouse – where on earth do these “100% guaranteed” dealings come from?
The sighting of a greasy tanned man at the KC Stadium does not mean that Ronaldo is on his way to a surprise move to the North-East.
When a “contact within the club” is nothing more than the ticket man who sleeps in the booth every other Wednesday for four hours, it doesn’t give much hope to the credibility of the apparent wheeling and dealing in the boardroom.
It’s a sad state of affairs when the rumour of the day can be directly traced to “MANC4EVA”s Football Manager game (the rumour in question being Fabregas and Van Persie for Gary Neville).
So why do we nod sagely and exclaim “Oh I see!” whenever some feckless individual declares he’s “in the know” and can state for a fact that Pompey have already agreed a contract with Beckham, Father Christmas and Ronald McDonald (a fearsome midfield) for next season’s Championship push?
It’s because three months without football is torture to those of us who fixate on the 3.30 kick-off every Saturday for the rest of the year.
It’s because what else can you talk about when your girlfriend/estranged relative forces you to don chinos and a boater while watching people you don’t really care about go up and down the Thames where a motor boat would make it quicker and more entertaining?
But most importantly, these rumours entice fans to dare to dream; to think that maybe next season will be different if Rooney makes a move to the Madjeski or if Titus Bramble can finally be shifted on to new climates.
Yes, Thierry Henry playing at Upton Park next season sounds unlikely, but where there’s hearsay there’s hope.
And we all need a bit of that in a World Cup year.
