And, just like that, you’ve have made it through another treacherous weekend of football. High fives all ‘round, darlings!
Chelsea snatched three points at the Bridge while we all secretly willed God to strike Michael Ballack down in a dramatic scene involving lightning, Rocky theme music and Didier shouting, tears streaming down his face: ‘Don’t let go Mikey! I swear I’ll let you take the free kick next time!’
Or maybe that was just me.
The Toronto Reds crushed – crushed, I tell you! – Kansas with their (newfound) footballing prowess. Well done boys but I fear that your real trouble might start once you hit the road again. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.
Most of my weekend was actually spent partaking in the viewing of the NFL Draft o’ Sex (get this: no actual sports to distract you from the hotties! Brilliant, who invented this? Give ’em a medal, I say!), live-blogging it over at SportsbyBrooks with my fellow Ladies. I’ve emerged a new woman. Yes, one dangerously obsessed with Chris Long and slightly creeped out by PETA’s new spokesman, Matt Ryan. Another post, perhaps…
[Dame’s note: I may also, at any moment, spontaneously morph into either one of the two: an enormous bag of Cheetos (the crunchy kind) or Mike Mayock (gem of the NFL network, dispatcher of brilliant lines that even the finest of orators, Nelson Mandela and the Dalai of Llamas included, would be hard-pressed to come up with – eg. ‘Getting hurt didn’t hurt him.’)]
Anyhow, enough with the chit-chat – shirtless footballers await.
And please, girls, do keep your drooling off the keyboard. You left quite a mess last time and even though I’ve only been here about a week, I’m tired of putting up with your shit. Diva-slam!
The Hometown Hero
Steven Gerrard a.k.a Stevie G
Captain of Liverpool’s namesake football club, Liverpool – the Mersey Reds – Stevie G is the owner of the prettiest thighs in the league hands down (or hands on, if you don’t mind Stevie). His hotness quotient tends to skyrocket when he’s pictured with his cute-as-hell daughter, Lilly Ella. Stevie’s nurturing streak is a tremendous turn on.
[Dame’s note: The nurturing of Fernando Torres does not count. Nando, enough is enough, already. Go feel up someone your own age, you writhing mess of a boy.]
[Dame’s note II: In a heart-shattering turned of events (well, not so much heart-shattering as LOLz inducing), this photo of the Scouser as a youngster dressed in an Everton kit turned up. Well, I never…]
The Asshole French Guy
Florent Malouda a.k.a. Flo
You have to be a pretty disagreeable Frenchie to surpass normal and expected levels of French-people-cuntyness. I mean, all you really had to do, Florent, was slap on a beret, zip down to the training ground or wherever and look pretty while handing out warm, buttered baguettes to passersby. Maybe bust out some La Vie en Rose for the people, if you felt up to it. Why can you not just conform? Florent even had the nerve to call Chelsea’s training sessions ‘terrifying’ and the nuts to call Fattie Frank out on his coke-drinking. How dare he? Gorgeous abs and chiseled cheekbones have been wasted on you, my friend.
Carlos Bocanegra a.k.a. His Royal Hotness
If I had one pick out all the hotties in the league, I’ll tell you right now, it would be Carlos. He’s beautiful. And has a hot name, which doesn’t hurt. The sexiest guy in a Spanish soap would have his name. Ever since he abandoned that peculiar looking brown-bit-in-the-front hairdo, I’ve been totally and completely smitten with him. He’s also a defender, which gains him some bonus points. The closer you are to the back, the close you are to my heart, I always say.
[Dame’s note: Bocanegra’s team, Fulham, is home to many Yanks actually. Clint Dempsey, Brian McBride (another hottie), Eddie Johnson, Kasey Keller. Coincidentally – er, or not – they’re headed for relegation this season. Shame! Other crap teams impeding the success of hot Yanks: Derby – Benny Feilhaber, what a waste.]
Fernando Torres a.k.a. Horrid Hair
I don’t like Fernando Torres. There, I said it. I don’t care if he’s pretty, has an impressive set of thighs (yes, I’ve seen them) and a cheeky little grin. His pretty borders on girly, his cheeky grin is an evil one and his impressive thighs…well, they’re still impressive. But that’s not the point! The point I’m trying to make here is that Fernando looks like a prepubescent girl and his hair is certainly not helping things. Blond streaks, mullet looking bizarro hair, side-parts, middle-parts, layers – we’ve seen it all. Can the boy not find a decent hairstylist? Are things really that hard out there for a pimp? Fernando, you’re rolling in it – why not consult someone?
[Dame’s note: For all my intense disdain for the man-child, there have been a few moments where I’ve thought him not so bad. Yes, and then he goes and touches Stevie. That’s when it all goes out the window – I’m instantly overwhelmed with jealousy and all pleasant thoughts leave my head. I did quite like when he had his hair all shaved off though. That suited him.]
Cesc Fabregas a.k.a. Legal
Cesc first joined up with Arsenal when he was just a budding sex god at the young age of 16, his hotness, then unbeknownst to law-abiding perv-ettes like myself. Cesc practically grew up in front of our eyes a la Rudy from the Huxtables (pardon me, I’ve been zooming through season three of the Cosbys on DVD). One day he was the skinny Spanish kid with the funny hair and the next he was ‘Ooooooh, I’d like a piece of that, thanks!’
[Dame’s note: Thee youngin’ in fact. The boy just won the PFA Young Player of the Year Award yesterday. Congratulations, you hunk of sex.]
Didier Drogba a.k.a. Didi
Team: Chelsea/Ivory Coast
For many ladies, a crush on Didi just kind of creeped up on them, totally out of the blue. I remember my moment: Ivory Coast v Netherlands, World Cup ’06. The camera cut to Didier rudely taking hold of some Dutch baller’s nether regions right after he gave him the ‘I will cut you to the white meat, bro. I’m serious’ cut-eye. I was disgusted! Beside myself! Somehow though my shrieks of ‘I can’t believe he just did that!’ miraculously turned into my Didi fangirling mantra: ‘God…I can’t believe he – sigh – just – giggle – did THAT…’ To this day, I truly don’t know what happened. Despite his on-pitch antics though (‘sometimes I dive, sometimes I stand’), by most accounts, Didi’s actually a really great guy off the pitch. Even the angriest of keepers, Jens Lehmann, admitted that Didi’s a pleasant dude. Just give in, won’t you?
[Dame’s note: He’s been credited with halting a civil war in Ivory Coast for heaven’s sake! No clue why he can’t he sort out his hair though…]
The third and final part of the EPL tour to follow next week – among them the Leper, the Good Thing in a Small Package and the Bad Boy. Oh yes, everyone loves a bad boy.