When the big story finally broke big about what Man City had really been up to and the cheating was obvious to all, I suppose I was a bit amused, and thought about posting something suitably cutting and sardonic. I didn't think about taunting City fans at work because there aren't any, but I'm pretty sure I would have done if there were. But something stopped me from gloating and I'm glad it did.
This wasn't out of a due sense of pity, I'm afraid. I'm just not that nice. I think what made me hesitate was a vague feeing of unease that what I was reading pointed to a degree of corruption that could make me fall out of love with the beautiful game now it's been ruined through egregious but inevitable greed. And the more I've read and listened to since have served to add to my discomfiture.
Case in point: an excellent podcast from the the Sports Agents concerning whether the Premier League is about to eat itself deeply depressed me when I gave it an ear today. Aside from the excellent journalism of Christoph Winterbach and the team at Der Spiegel I heard no positives. All's bleak & comfortless, I'm afraid.
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