The Ballade of Pep Guardiola
Whilst his Merrye Man City club have been heaped with praise, few have been given access to the inner man, the quiet genius that is Pep Guardiola. So it was with a hushed reverence and supplicant bowing that I was finally allowed behind the scenes to meet the great man himself.
Others might have picked their office, or the gym, or the heaving trophy cabinet for such an interview, but not the one some have called the Robin hooded Catalan!
To the gentle strains of a mediaeval madrigal we met in a secluded wood near Manchester and through the misty haze of smoke that seemed to make his features even more chiselled, I listened to the great man speaketh….
“you know it’s not about money or glory or trophies….I’m here to educate and help people be better people” said the shiny headed prophet. “Do you know when Kyle Walker arrived, he knew nothing of the songs of Merry Englande, and had to be taught the difference between a Lute and a Lyre – shocking!”
As the great man speaks he absent-mindedly binds two vines together to create a rudimentary rope which he effortlessly then forms into the shape of 2 swans passing a ball back and forth.
He speaks eloquently for some 10 minutes, putting right the wrongs of Football in England, suggesting a cheap and simple reform of the distribution of wealth and land rights, as well as offering a home to the oft forgotten King Richard, for so long, lost to foreign lands.
His Merrye band gradually join us, hanging off his every word….”look at this man there…my “little John” Stones – we have worked together to make him a better player, not just bought him a bigger staff or surrounded him with lots of others to defend the wood from the evil Sheriiff!”
His team grew tense at the mention of the Sheriff Mourinho and the conversation soon moves onto a different subject. “Here we nurture the group, we offer fresh air, good food, a fruit based vitamin drink that is totally above board and I’ll take you to the Court of Arbitration for Sport if you disagree and the chance to truly express yourself as a merrye man!”
But what of those that say the backing of club by Moorish forces beyond these shores represents a threat to the nation and that they have suspect practices in the building of their castles, halls and football stadia?
A strange calm comes over him, like a monk in prayer and he responds “This criticism of the owners of the Merrye Men is unjust and racist. These simple farmers of the land have placed their faith and oil in me to bring glory to the band. We will ensure they never hear the word No or are not able to buy the swiftest horse in the land or another left back.”
“What about those that have left the merry band such as Will Scar-Hart – were they not merry?”
Again, bathed in serenity and showing no anger the great leader responds…”I consider that a goalkeeper should be a wandering minstrel…touring the land to bring music, laughter and clearing out the last third of the pitch as a sweeper, not just staying in the woods stopping arrow shots!”
I hesitate before asking my final question as I want to spend more time in this beautiful man’s presence….”So what do you say to those who say you are a lucky outlaw; who inherited a great team in the land of Aragon, then again in the Germanic lands of the holy roman empire and have spent legion of silver ducket and gold doubloon to assemble a merrye band of mercenaries here in olde Englande!”
A single tear traces down his manly stubble and he shakes his head….”No…No….it’s not about the money…..it’s all about the glory….the majesty…..the echoing sound of a half full wood of people cheering the band on...in memory of this great man!” and at that point he reaches down and from his hairy but well-groomed chest he produces a heart shaped locket that he carefully places on a simple wooden stool with gold plated handles…”this man knew what it was all about….he is our inspiration!”
He leaves the clearing, clearly emotionally moved. With a shaking hand I reach out and pick it up, noting the inscription on the front. ”Our #10” I open it to reveal… a faded picture of Shaun Goater and cry bitter tears of regret for having ever questioned the great man’s genius!
