I’ve been watching German football, to get used to the lack of atmosphere. Adding crowd noises contributes nothing. It’s like sleazy music accompanying a porn film.
Rice has a beard. Will this affect his balance? Oh dear, Antonio is centre forward again. How many games does he have to play in this position, before Moyes realises he is not a striker. He needs to be on a flank, so he can use his power to cut it. Put Bowen up front.
Off we go. Oh no, here we go again is my thought at ten minutes. Backing off, backing off, surely it should be pressing, pressing. The consequences look to be inevitable.
But the best chance goes to Fornals, who had the time it takes a space shuttle to circle the earth, to bring the ball down, but he takes a wild slash at the ball.
Time goes on and it looks like we are preparing for Championship football. May be a good thing. We need to clear this lot out.
I needed a drinks’ break to grab myself a quick whisky.
Shot of David Sullivan fiddling with his face mask. It looked like he was considering adapting them as a sexy piece of men’s underwear. He was social distancing from his partner/wife. They obviously didn’t get on in lockdown.
The game has the intensity of a pair of tortoises trying to mate. Felipe Anderson so far has shown all the skills of a Brazilian transvestite trying on a pair of knickers which are two sizes too small.
Don’t get it. They have a tea break, but only one minute is added at the end of 45 minutes.
Anderson starts getting his mojo going (comece seu mojo in Portuguese), so he is substituted. Lazini comes on. The commentator is out of date and says, ‘Lanzini can make things happen.’
Oh dear, shot of Traore on the touchline with a pair of legs looking like tree trunks. Comes on and game is over.
Most exiting moment for West Ham is when there were two balls on the pitch.
It’s all inevitable , isn’t it?
May have been better if Covid 19 had got me.