Sven Goran Eriksson, the England football manager, is rarely out of the news. And now, at least after the impending World Cup, he’s out of a job. Hounded and hunted, Sven now fills the shoes of Diana – the name that ensures bumper sales of tabloid thrash. Guest writer Dan Brown would like a moment of your time…
Sven Goran Eriksson, the Swede who manages England’s football team, has never really done himself any favours. He’s had stupid affairs, been hilariously indiscreet and made a total twat the team Captain. Still though, for all his indiscretions and idiocy, it’s difficult to not to feel slightly sorry for the man.
The last two weeks have seen Eriksson practically eviscerated in public, by a vile, toadying tabloid press who have been falling over each other in their rush to crucify the man – appointing themselves judge, jury and executioner – all tinged with a puke-inducing streak of xenophobia. And today’s column by Sun hack John Sadler is just the last straw. In response, I decided to write them a letter…
I’ve been reading with interest the views expressed by your journalists, as well as those on your sister rag, whose name escapes me. Normally I’d temper my language, but in this case it’s appropriate to communicate in a language you guys seem to understand:
How the fuck do you dumb cunts sleep at night?
Having just read John Sadler’s comments – the repulsiveness of his ageing, chinless looks and outdated 70’s hair are surely only trumped by his inner ugliness – I feel ashamed to be British. What an intolerant, small minded nation we’ve become if Sadler’s comments are to be believed.
Except we’re not a small minded nation. We remain a reasonably decent country, where even your target audience are now waking up to the fact that too many of our tabloid journalists are mean spirited, vile, lying, hypocritical pricks who consider destroying the lives of talented, decent, flawed men to be a perk of the job.
And as for that fat fuck Martin Samuels. Has winning some seventh rate Sports journalist of the Year competition gone to his head? (It’s hard to tell from his photo, his head being almost hidden by the grotesque layers of fat and his oversize arse. ) I didn’t think it possible for him to get bigger, but, fuck me, I was wrong. Between the lead in his brain and the bullshit in his mouth, I have grave concerns he’s about to explode. For humanitarian reasons, can none of his colleagues have him put down? If ever there was a man who couldn’t get laid unless he has Â£50 in his pocket…
Back to that weasel Sadler. He writes that the public must be sick and tired of hearing about the subject of Sven. YOU DON’T REPRESENT ME, OR ANY OF THE PEOPLE I KNOW OR HAVE LISTENED TO ON THE RADIO OR WHOSE VIEWS I’VE READ ON LINE YOU PRESUMPTOUS, HALF WITTED, XENOPHOBIC FUCK. The people I know are sick of people like you being allowed to spout your poisonous venom in a national newspaper, making it a little harder every day to have any pride in the image our nation projects to the rest of the world.
The news is bad today in Britain, and for Britain. There is nothing good or decent or hopeful to come out of it unless you’re a pen wielding Nazi. But at least it’s a watershed. This week has ended the career of more than one, admittedly foolish and human, man. You misjudged the mood this time and it hasn’t finished yet.
There’s no celebrating today. Only a stench of doom and death and regret.
The Sven Files