A well-known media personnel from North Norfolk has agreed to correspond on Premier League games for Ronnie Dog Media. In fear that it may tarnish his ‘prestigious’ name in the world of British media, he wishes to remain unnamed. Here are his ramblings.

Alright, let’s talk about it. Or should I say, them? Teemu Pukki’s BIG BALLS! God, what a man. He even grows a better beard than me. And now, he’s a bigger celebrity in Norwich than me! Do you think he knows who I am? Do you think he’d be my friend? I did manage to get his number off a mate. I texted him after the game but the conversation hasn’t finished yet. What do you make of it?

Me: “HEY Teemu. It’s big Al! What’s up brother?”
TP: “Hello? Who’s this?”
Me: “It’s me! Alan!”
TP: “Mate, I think you have the wrong number.”
Me: “No, really, it’s Alan! I thought Sebastian told you I’d be sending you an SMS message?”

I’m yet to receive a reply from Teemu, but I’m convinced he’ll come round. Can you imagine!? The both of us out and about causing havoc in North Norfolk (I do not condone Premier League footballers drinking alcoholic beverages during the season, this would be after the season or in the event of a serious injury)! One day.

I didn’t even watch the rest of Saturday’s games. I passed out in the pub after THREE shandies (I asked the bartender for a 40/60 soda to beer ratio instead of the conventional 50/50 to seem hard (It makes the shandy unbearably bitter, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your reputation)). I’m convinced one of the heavy-set women on the other side of the bar slipped something into my third one. Either that or the bartender was a little too careless with his lager to lime-soda ratioing. I know most people in the service industry have little to no education, but that’s not an excuse. They should BE MORE CAREFUL! I could have died from alcohol poisoning.

After waking up at 11:30 AM, with what I can only describe as a bastard of a hangover, I caught up on the highlights from the rest of Saturday’s games. The one that really caught my eye was Manchester City against the Tottenham Hotspurs. WHAT A THRILLER! Gabriel Jesus screamed, “VAR is f@#$ing sh%t,” at the referees at the end of the game. I don’t know who these Brazilians (I WON’T generalize and say all South Americans) think they are. England is a land of sophistication, and I’d be truly appalled if I ever heard an English footballer speak with such vulgarity.

On Sunday I watched Chelsea and Leicester City. I don’t know what I was expecting really. Frank Lampard, as beautiful as he is (And he is beautiful. I am comfortable enough with my sexuality to admit it), is a rubbish manager. I mean, why didn’t he buy anybody this summer? When your best boy leaves for Madrid, you have to replace him. Honestly, I think I’D do a better job than some of these guys (Frank if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I love you, but it’s true.).