Who Needs the Flying Dutchman...

Let all who enter be warned, the following is almost entirely devoted to football aka soccer, and if you don't understand and/or are not interested, by no means are you forced to read my brilliant work.

Well, the first match of the 2006/07 English Premier League has just ended for Manchester United, and I for one am quite gleeful. Yes, gleeful. I don't usually throw that G word around that often, but this is an occasion befitting such superlatives.

It's been a long, long, long time since I've really enjoyed a proper game of football involving the side I've adored for most of my football-knowing years; this would probably the first one since the 2-0 win over Arsenal last season. Still, this one's special, it was at home, under much scrutiny, what with the "loss" of Ruud van Nistelrooy and the inability to land such names as Frank Ribery, Mahmadou Diarra, Fernando Torres, Michael Ballack and Owen Hargreaves.

I have a sore throat now, only because of my insistent yelling of "Ronaldo Ronaldo Ronaldo" everytime Rooney had space to move (and I do believe it was due to my verbal prodding he spotted the number 7 for United's third goal) and also my hooting after Paul Scholes turned back the clock to smack one against the upright in the first half. If this larynx had been in a better condition, I'd have berated the Orge/Prodigy after he attempted that rabona pass near the end of the game.

Still, a great performance, and as I said, I am one gleeful bored chap now. My sister is hogging the phone. Don't you just hate paedophiles? And no, I don't mean the ones lusting over Ellen Page.

So, just a recap, Man Utd 5-1 Fulham (Saha, own goal, Rooney, Ronaldo, Rooney).

Yipee, my faith in Old Trafford is restored.

For those of you who did not understand a word of the above, I pity you.