An Open Invitation to Disillusioned Seria A Fans

The Italian verdicts are in–pending the inevitable appeal. They may not have been the draconian slams that the offense may have deserved. After all, how dare the bastards ruin one of the few good things in the world for their own greedy little ends. If I were King, I’d have their heads. Actually, I’d have many many heads, so it’s probably just as well I stay in my current position.

None of the rumors I heard concerning the possible penalties the clubs faced were worse than what actually came down. So, I’m not hugely disappointed. I half suspected it would be much lighter. There was even talk at one point of granting all involved an amnesty. There is a massive amount of money at stake, and that’s what everything comes down to in the end. It would have been a remarkable result if the Italians gave the crime a fitting sentence. They ended up slapping a little harder than I expected them to anyway. Sorry Inter fans (I’m one)–disbanding AC was never going to happen.

But for all you out there too disgusted to support the crooked Serie A, I offer redemption. There exists a fine little team in the East of England, in the idyllic setting of Constable country, off the North Sea coast. They play beautiful football. Stressing defense and passing. Well, that is seemingly what they often look to be doing. Sometimes you have to squint to see it. Good, solid, blue collar, hard-working, non-cheating… Everything you could ask for in a football team. They are Ipswich Town.

There is no match fixing there. The results speak for themselves. They couldn’t even afford to pay Darren Bent, Marcus Bent, Richard Wright, Kieron Dyer, Matt Holland, Herman Hriedersson. The sad list is endless. No thought could ever be given to attempting to buy a single ref. They don’t even offer me a pint to say nice things about them. The games don’t always end happily, but they are always legit.

So now’s your chance to get on the wagon. Don’t leave it too late. Once we get a bit of Champions League silverware, and all that–you’ll just be accused of being a frontrunner then. Soon as I’m King.

Whatever you do, take my advice (and Elvis Costello’s). Don’t go to Chelsea.