Was it only three days ago that something about a holiday hangover struck me as a clever way to open this article? Not to be outdone, Big Football had a morning rummage through the drinks cupboard and necked the bottle labelled ‘drink me’.
We all know the festive period is bound to be chaotic, full of surprises; post-holiday scorelines both topsy-turvy and stunningly somnolent, the usual frenzy of flagged players. And though I am, admittedly, still a bit bleary from too many hours spent consuming too much breaking football content, January is already giving through-the-looking-glass vibes.
First, a blue, then a red pawn is swept from the board in the top-flight managerial chess game. Caretaker Football Dad — whisper it, the next Ole — nicks a croquet, er, crucial point with only flamingos for mallets. So the story went. And was it a day, an hour, ten minutes later, I can’t keep track, that the real Ole faded into view, a mirror world of post-Mourinho Fantasy points beaming back at us from a season named nostalgia? Will he? Will they? Were the keys to the transfer cabinet only lost in the lining of Jason’s other coat?
There’s next season’s popular Fantasy chip sorted: a Free Hit/Assistant Manager mashup with an unlimited budget, but your team is whimsically rearranged after deadline by an algorithmic club hierarchy based on the league’s last few sackings.
Absurd, indeed, but it’s embracing the absurd that keeps me enjoying the game. Scores on here this week from the 30s to the 80s, a wild week for the template, or make that the ‘template that isn’t’? Bench jam and cruel one-pointers, Wildcard drafts flying along with hits for out-of-fashion forwards. If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense, said Alice, who played FPL in a time when the postman was the only way through the rabbit hole.
Everything is bound to make sense by Thursday night. I’m sure of it.
