I'm Bert Tiddle and you've never heard of me. I partied so hard at the 1984 Ipswich Town end of season party that I slept through the entire offseason and only woke up when Jason Dozzell slapped me with a fish he found next to me the day of our first match of the new season. I played the final eight minutes and vomited everywhere. Literally everywhere. Jason Dozzell is a numpty.
After yet another horrid and worthless offseason, league matches will soon be starting back up and old Bert will once again have a reason to not drive a bus into a volcano. In case you're one of those twunts who spends the summer at some island resort, singing swear words on karaoke nights and getting your pockets picked when you ask the locals where they kept the donkey shows like I used to, here's the most annoying offseason business you missed. I sincerely hope it ruins whatever positive memories you have of the summer months. You're welcome.
Wade Rooney got a hair transplant -- You're a professional footballer, son. The prozzies still took your money whether you had hair or not. And the procedure didn't even work. You paid��30,000 for maybe four more hairs. I know a fella called Scabies Dave who would've stapled a whole mess of hair he scavenges out of drain pipes to your melon for 14 quid. You would've looked like Don Johnson. If Don Johnson had wet body hair stapled to his head.
The Women's World Cup -- Before you go calling Bert Tiddle a sexist, let's be clear that I've got nothing against women playing football. But when they play it so well that Zinfandel, one of my 18 kids, comes to me and asks if she can play football like them one day, I have to tell her that she's a hunchback and hunchbacks can't play football. They can only ring bells. Then she tells me that she's not a hunchback and that she has "scoliosis." Like that's a real thing. Anyway, we argued for hours and she ended up hitting me with an Xbox. But that's happened before and it'll happen again.
Copa America -- Brazil didn't win it. Argentina didn't win it. Instead, it was some country called "Uruguay." Pretty sure they made that up. This is why you can't take football played outside of England seriously.
Cents Fabregas -- I don't care where he plays, I just want him off my television. I tried to sort out the transfer myself, but Wenger just told me to get out of his shower and said that if I did tell Barca that they could have him for a box of sunglasses, he'd have me arrested. So he had me arrested, but now I've got a whole box of sunglasses. Deal with that, Arsenal and Barcelona.
Premier League clubs touring the U.S. and Asia -- Sure, they'll let Manchester United and Chelsea come and go as they please, but when Bert Tiddle violates one or 70 child labors laws with his "soccer" camp for kids in America back in the summer of 1996, suddenly he's not allowed back in the country without threat of imprisonment. I don't need that. So this year, I held my youth football camp in China.
I thought they had no problem with putting kids to work in poor conditions and throwing buckets of money at English football there, but when I have my campers build Ikea furniture and pay me for the privilege, they make me shut down the camp and leave the country. I taught those little plonkers valuable lessons about life, the importance of not showboating with too many skills on the pitch, and how to take an ibuprofen when those crap Ikea tools give you crippling hand cramps. Last time I try to teach the Chinese anything. I'm going to try and find today's edition of the News of the World.