Fo shizzle, nizzle. Don’t touch that dizzle. Tha big boss dogg is back up in the motherfuckin’ hizzous.

Tha doggfather spent the motherfuckin’ summer at my nigga Dr Dre’s crib eating chicken wings off the grill, rollin’ round da hood in my 64 Impala and fucking wit big booty bitchez. But, uh, back to the lecture at hand, my nigga Gareth been doing some shit that big Snoop just don’t understand.

Yo, big dizzle ain’t claim to be tha most knowledgest motherfucker when it comes to roundball, but shit, even the S-N double-O-P knows y’all need a motherfuckin’ goalkeeper to win some shit. Big Snoop been watching motherfuckin’ goalkeepers come and go this motherfuckin’ summer, even dat chubby motherfucker from these Jewish fools woulda been better than what yo’ asses got: one crazy ass New Zealander look like a motherfuckin’ schoolboy and some other rookie cracker.

Shit, though, ain’t no other reason for hatin’ on my nigga Gareth. My motherfuckin’ South-diggy-diggy-dizzle hooked hisself up wit’ a mad Dutch connection. Be shippin’ in pot smokin niggas straight from Amsterdam. He done signed hisself a Dutch motherfuckin’ rastafarian and, what my niggas tell me, he tryin’ to cop a couple more black men for his team. My nigga Gareth representing affirmative action for real. Straight ballin’ like the motherfuckin’ Barack Obama of da Premier League.

Big Snoop done checked the history books and he done see Middlesbizzle ain’t won shit on the opening day fo’ about ten motherfuckin’ years. Best believe my sharp dressed nigga Southdizzle is the motherfuckin’ man to switch up dat shit. These Lilywhite motherfuckers gon’ get they craniums cracked for real. Middlesbizzle gon’ break deez motherfuckers off two-nizzle.

All the motherfuckin’ haters can eat a big fat dick.

Til the next episode.

It’s back!

And so am I.

Thank fuck. Summer’s over. No more tennis. No more golf. No more cricket

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like tennis, golf and cricket. If it wasn’t for them, I might find I was writing on the same pages as bowls and fishing.

But let’s face it, there’s only one game in town. I’m not sure how that comes to be, mind you, because none of the stadiums seem to be any more.

Am I nit-picking? Who cares.

Hallelujah! The beautiful game is back.

Yes, it means looking at Andy Gray more than any of us would like, but that’s a small price to pay.

Not a phrase West Ham could use about either of Freddie Ljungberg‘s goals, obviously.

* * *

So, who’s the contenders for this year’s premiership?

Let’s start with Spurs.

Some fantastic signings, great pre-season form and primed and ready to seize their rightful place at the top table of English football. But, nevertheless, still Spurs, so, let’s stop laughing and get serious.

I’m sorry if this is going to spoil the next week or so for those of you who think there’s more to it than what I’m about to say, but here’s how it is…

Man United or Chelsea will win the league. They have the best players, the most money and the most experienced and successful managers. And if that isn’t enough, there’s always Mike Riley.

I’m not saying Mr Riley favours Man U at Old Trafford or Chelsea at Stamford Bridge, but for some reason his wife feels obliged to attend those matches in a two foot high blue wig.

Yes, there are one or two clowns who think they’ll look really smart come May who are saying Arsenal and Liverpool.

Except nobody will remember they said Arsenal and Liverpool in May, because they sure as hell won’t be reminding anyone.

So, here’s the excitement we have to look forward to. It will be one of two teams. It’ll be Man United if they can keep Ronaldo‘s head out of his wallet. Or Chelsea if Scolari can keep his own spoilt, badge-kissing mercenaries happy.

No wonder Andy Gray’s salivating with anticipation.

* * *

Meanwhile, that’s one hell of a side Roy Keane’s building at Sunderland there.

While other bosses are chasing wingers who look faster than a bolt of lightning, he‘s after the guys who look like they‘ve been hit by it.

Some people think that Ronaldo lives a charmed life, but picture the scene at Spurs’ training ground three weeks ago.

Juande Ramos is watching Gus Poyet take a training session with the Spurs defence. He pulls a glossy black and white picture of Andrei Arshavin out his pocket, looks at it, and then he looks back at the pitch.

He starts crying and goes: “Fuck me. I have brilliant plans, but how the hell am I supposed to start with that pile of crap?”

Just then, Roy Keane turns up with a wheelbarrow full of money and a spade.

* * *

I note that Arsenal finished top of last season’s foul language league.

Hardly surprising, given that half the team’s French.

The all-English Champions League final between Manchester United and Chelsea is to be made into a Hollywood blockbuster, Over The Bar can exclusively reveal.

The prospect of a young, cocksure American soccer squad taking on a dreary but ruthlessly efficient Russian team has been too much for Hollywood executives to turn down and Rocky star Sylvester Stallone has already begun work on the screenplay.

Stallone’s passion for football is well known, having attended Goodison Park to watch Everton play Reading last season. It is believed that the star of Rambo will refer quite closely to the script of Rocky IV – the last film to perfectly recapture the Cold War atmosphere.

Stallone is hopeful of adding to the authenticity of the film by requesting that the likes of Wayne Rooney, Didier Drogba and Frank Lampard play themselves. However, to create an extra sense of realism, CGI animation will be used to create a lifelike version of Avram Grant.

FIFA and MLS officials believe, if handled properly, this film could do more for soccer in the US than David Beckham and Abel Xavier combined.

Sven Goran Eriksson will be sacked by at the end of the season after a disagreement with Manchester City owner Thaksin Shinawatra about his new glasses.

The ex-England manager started well at Eastlands this season, mainly because the opposition didn’t recognise any of his signings. However, since he adopted his sky blue-rimmed spectacles, results have been poor, leading Shinawatra to introduce a new rainbow coloured home kit as an excuse to sack him.

A source close to the former Thai premier told Over The Bar, “Sven’s specs make us play more akin to Coventry City, which just isn’t acceptable. Thaksin has introduced the new rainbow kit knowing full well that even Sven wouldn’t be seen dead wearing rainbow coloured specs. He always left such fashion horrors to Nancy Dell’olio.”

Since rumours of Eriksson’s sacking broke yesterday, favourites for the vacant City job are Elton John, Bungle, Christopher Biggins and ex-Rainbow guitarist Richie Blackmore.

Following David Bentley’s admission that footballers have an addictive personality, with Bentley himself obsessed with DIY, more Premiership stars are owning up to their own bizarre obsessions.

Whilst Bentley’s claims were first thought to be yet another way of copying David Beckham, who himself suffers from an obsession of arranging the fridge, Dr Rocque Ocque, Over The Bar’s resident medical expert has even more shocking revelations.

“I know for a stone cold fact that Robbie Savage is obsessed with his hair, and carries around a full length mirror at all times,” said Dr Ocque, “Unfortunately, he is also blind from the ankles up so he can’t use it.”

Ocque continued, “Also, more worryingly, Nicolas Bendtner has an obsession with winding up Arsene Wenger, which can only end in tears, or a transfer to Middlesbrough.”

“Avram Grant is doing a great job at Chelsea, but is his obsessed with dressing up as Boris Karloff and stalking the Kings Road scaring young children. The worst case though, and it has to be stopped, is Ashley Cole’s obsession with himself, it is totally out of control.”

The FA are carrying out a full report, once they have carefully arranged the Big Four clubs in position for the next ten seasons.

It be Fridizzle and that must mean it’s da return of da incredible, unforgettable motherfucking D-O double-G.

Yo, y’all Middlesbizzle motherfuckers must have some voodoo shit stanking up yo’ asses. Y’all whupped the ass of dem Chelshizzle motherfuckers, fo’ shizzle. Y’all was slicing up so much ass, dat raw Turkish nigga, Sanlizzle, done bust his head open headbutting the shit out them Russian motherfuckers. Nigga was bleedin’ so hard, he had to replaced by that crazy nigga Alvizzle.

Big Snoop ain’t want to create no beef where there ain’t one, but shit, dis Alvizzle motherfucker must be one of the shittest motherfuckers I ever did see. He addicted to hitting the bar like Lil’ John and The East Side Boyz.

Sunday morning and y’all motherfuckers gotta battle deez Red Devilz I been hearing about. Deez motherfuckers got true game, for real. I hear the man to watch be this pretty boy motherfucker called Ronald Cristal. This motherfucker got the name of a true playa, and he done wear a diamond in his ear, but he be prancing around like he on some kinda jitterbug. Nigga wouldn’t last five minutes dancing down South Central like that, boy.

If my nigga Southgizzle can bounce on this Riverdance motherfucker, the game be his for the takin’. Middlesbizzle gon’ snatch dis one by a point, yo.

Layin’ and playin’. I’m just sayin’.

Peace.

Bolton boss Gary Megson believes controversial sprinter Dwain Chambers is the man to rescue his side from the relegation mire.

The sprinter, who despite beginning a month’s trial at rugby league side Castleford Tigers, is believed to be keen on keeping his options open.

Since selling Nicolas Anelka to Chelsea in the January transfer window, Megson’s Bolton side have lacked any real pace upfront and the former Leicester City manager has identified Chambers as the man to correct that.

Chambers has a track record of being prepared to try sports other than athletics. Apart from his current trial in rugby league, he attended a training camp for the San Francisco 49ers in 2004 and signed a contract with NFL Europa side Hamburg Sea Devils in 2007. It is thought a move to Premiership football would appeal to him.

Bolton Wanderers’ Communications Officer Hank Marlowe told us, “It would be a terrific coup for the club. Not since we were linked with Rivaldo in 2004 has there been this sense of excitement about the place.”

The American owners of Liverpool have forged a unique agreement that will see each of them take control of 50% of the club.

Just last week, co-owner George Gillett described his relationship with partner Tom Hicks as ‘unworkable’, but fresh negotiations over the weekend have led to the pair coming to an amicable agreement.

The two Americans have taken the unusual step of splitting all of the club’s assets 50/50. As part of the agreement, Hicks will take control of the Main Stand and the Anfield Road End, while the Kop and the Centenary Stand will fall under Gillett’s ownership.

The deal also sees Hicks receive sole ownership of the dressing room, the press box and the famous This Is Anfield sign, while Gillett will take possession of the Shankly Gates.

Relations between the American businessmen have been so acrimonious that even the playing staff have had to be divided between the feuding owners. The selection process was described by one insider as “like something out of the school playground, with lines of players waiting to be picked by either team”.

Over The Bar understands that his willingness to forfeit the bronze statue of Bill Shankly saw Gillett have the first pick of the players and he selected in-form striker Fernando Torres. Hicks chose Steven Gerrard with the second overall selection.

Our insider tells us that the Americans showed a surprising awareness of English schoolboy football tradition by picking the useless ginger player, John Arne Riise, last.

Yo, I might have ducked out last week, but the S-N double-O-P is still the same blunt tokin’, title holdin’, Desert Eagle .45 totin’ nigga dat leaves yo’ brain broken.

Plenty bitchez been ridin’ my ass ’bout Big Snoop Deezy takin’ Eastizzle Weekend off, yo. I ain’t exactly a religious motherfucker, but if tha Doggfather get tha chance to be sippin’ Henny, smoke some hiz-erb and fuck around with some hoes with big ass booties and little bitty waists, y’all know he gon’ take it.

Plus, yo big tha big boss Dogg ain’t got a minute to hisself, y’all. First I gon’ drop my new album on Mondizzle. Bitch be called Ego Trippin’, y’all need to pick dat shit up, ya feel me? And on Sunday night, I gon’ be reprazentin’ the World Wrestling Federation at Wrestlemania, baby. Big Snoop gon’ be takin’ charge of the Playboy Bunny match. You know I love dem hoes.

But I still got much love for my cardigan wearing, Guinness drinking motherfucker, Gareth S-to-the-gizzle. His team done whupp the asses of some Derbyshizzle bitchez and done out-gunned da Ass Gunnerz lately. Dis week be some difficult shit, tho’.

Word on the streets is deez Chelshizzle motherfuckers be backed by the Russian mafia. Shit, Southgizzle gon’ need all the muscle he can lay his hands on. Ain’t no time for my nigga Mido to be havin’ surgery on his perforated pimp bone.

Snoop hates to do this to my Middlesbizzle niggas, but I can see y’all getting bitch-slapped by deez commie fucks fo’ points to nizzle.

I thought you knew.

Peace.

Pointing The Finger. Asking The Questions. Pinning The Blame

So, England lose and our national manager conducts his press conference in Italian?

The very least he could do is learn a few key phrases in English.

So, here, for you, Sr Cappello, are a few key quotes you’ll maybe find useful in the future:

Eravamo assulotamente mutande: “We were absolute pants .”

Mi dispiace. Sono completamente senza tracce: “Sorry. I am completely clueless.”

Dovrei mettere il grande ragazzo sopra più presto: “I should have put the big lad on earlier.”

Quando è il mio stipendio in su per la rivalutazione?: “When is my salary up for re-appraisal?”

Come faccia mettete questo carro armato al contrario: “How do you put this tank in reverse?”

* * *

Blimey.

How bad were we?

I’ll tell you. The flaming French applauded when we took Becks off.

I was never in favour of appointing Capello in the first place, but this farce has already gone on long enough.

A 2-1 win against Switzerland and a 1-0 defeat to France.

For god’s sake! We’re paying this clown £4 million pounds a year for a win and a draw against two nations who mostly play football with cheese.

I don’t know what the Italian for ‘value for money’ is, but this puts the rust on Alpha Romeos into perspective.

Mr Barwick, please end this fiasco before it’s too late. Capello must go.

Just pay him off. Give him any pizza he fancies at Pizza Express with up to four toppings of his own choice, plus a free coke, and get shot.

IT IS NOT WORKING.

Our boys understand 4-4-2.

We don’t understand football systems based on string theory. This 2-1-3-1-1-1 plus a roving Steven Gerard system just doesn’t work. You could see Michael Owen was confused when he got told to warm up, because for an hour he thought he’d actually been playing.

Mr Barwick, I am on my knees.

Soon. Please. Now. Tomorrow. 17th May. I don’t care when. Just make it soon.

For pity’s sake.

* * *

Never mind whether Beckham should ever play for England again, what on earth were we doing playing David James in goal?

Mr Capello, why do you think his name is Calamity James?

Don’t you get Doris Day movies in Italy?

* * *

So, Gordon Taylor has called for a no-go area around refs, has he? Sounds a good idea, but will that no-go area apply to Andy D’Urso’s guide dog?

* * *

Speaking of Mr Mag’Urso, I was heartened to read in his Wikipedia entry how magnificently he embraces the spirit of all-match-officials-in-it-together . I’m talking about his account of this season’s Fulham v Boro goal fiasco.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_D%27Urso

I think, reading between the lines, what Mr D’Urso is saying is no matter how crap he is as a ref, he’d still rather be loathed for having no integrity as a person.

Fine by me.

* * *

Everybody else may be satisfied with Ashley Cole’s apology to Mike Riley, but I certainly am not.

At what point did he apologise for being an arse?

Unless and until he says: “I’m sorry, but I, Ashley Cole, am an arse,” there will be no kissing and making up with me.

Mr Cole, I’m waiting.

* * *

I would like to ask all those Chelsea fans who chanted “You don’t know what you’re doing” at Avram Grant last Sunday…

Did you know what you were doing?

Not too many of you went home and chanted “I didn’t know what I was doing” at the mirror, did you?

I mean, if Avram Grant said: “Look, everybody! I have become a glorious sunbeam and I am just nipping out for five minutes to make every child I see in the street laugh with my smile,” that’s maybe when to start that particular chant.

But as long as he’s winning football matches, try to remember how crap you were before you became the most despised football club on the planet.

* * *

So, Alex Ferguson reckons Cristiano Ronaldo is close to becoming the new George Best?

Maybe.

But he has a Miss World to bed, a policeman to assault, Terry Wogan to tell he likes fucking on live TV and two livers to get through before he’ll be anywhere near fit to lace the great man’s boots.