27 November 2009 (Music Premiership Preview)

"Of course we should have a replay... on Playstation." - Patrice Evra, with his novel approach to a replay. Presumably Henry would be compelled to use his feet.

"He is deadly. We didn't see the game because we were in rehearsals but we know he helped score a goal that people say was cheating. He's such a cool guy. We're still up for going to the World Cup." - John or Edward, continue to display an innate barometer in touch with public feeling.

"They can complain all they want... same old story... move on." - Roy Keane could have been referring to Jedward. Unfortunately, this 'move on' lecture is coming from a man who waited years to get his revenge on Alfe Inge Haaland with a chainsaw tackle.

"The comments were perhaps over the top and I apologise to any supporter I might have offended... I'm 38 years of age and I'm going to make mistakes." - Roy Keane apologises. Presumably he will have blown up the world by the time he hits his retirement.

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that life is one crushing defeat after another until you just wish Flanders was dead." - Homer Simpson attempts to summarise the past ten days.

***

AranMan is angry this week. News has filtered through to him of Henry's handball and Jedward's X Factor exit, it seems that he has good reason to spout. The end is nigh! Oh, and in order for the below to make anything resembling sense, best familiarise yourselves with previous installments of AranMan.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. These are the five stages of grief. Four of which I have pretty much come to terms with, but I am having serious difficulty with the fifth. Is this what they mean in American cop shows when they demand to, "take the fifth," a refusal to accept what has taken place in front of their very eyes or just an attempt to prove that if you say the words enough times you will truly begin to believe what you are saying is true. Bleating out a mantra so many times that you are brainwashed and convinced of that statement's validity. Swill your brain in enough lie juice, pickle it in formaldelied and you can preserve it for eternity. Push it hard enough and that square peg will eventually fit into that round hole. The only difference between a truth and a lie is that one has to be repeated several times in order to become the other. Just check out Adam and Eve, George W. Bush,  Katie Price's career, W.M.D.'s in Iraq, Westlife, Jedward's existence, Thierry Henry's hand, and the Coatigan. A cross between a Coat and a Cardigan. I know. Pull the knitting needles out of your eyes. It's a seismic development in the age of Aran. It might only seem a stitch in time, but to my family, our Berlin woolly wall has come down.

However, my 'old school' Aran-obsessed Auntie would be turning in her grave; she bought a plot many years ago and insists on spending an hour lying in it every Sunday, just to be sure she will be comfortable. "Well, there's a difference between existing here for a few years, and trying to get comfortable for eternity. I paid good money for that plot so I want my money's worth," she used to tell me, as I was forced to sit and keep her company, ensuring that the step ladder was always on hand for her return back from the afterlife... I am currently dribbling out this week's missive on some parchment I discovered in a dark corner deep in the foxhole I have made my home. Luckily, the discarded Raleigh Grifter cardboard box I have fashioned into my bed has ample leg room, so my physical comfort hasn't been compromised. I also managed to salvage some old copies of the RTE Guide from being used as bedding. Luckily, there is no content so I have plenty of room to write.

All of these horrors I have been subjected to over the past few days. Eyes peeled back like a coatigan clad Alex from Clockwork Orange, I was forced to sit through a series of horrifying images just a few of which are mentioned above. This exposure to a forceful stream of visual vomit was part of the cleansing provided by my hirsute hostage takers. "Once the mind has been poisoned with these images of human degradation, you will then be wiped clean," (I presumed at this stage he meant my mind) "and then we can truly begin our initiation," the little hairy bastard barked at me, while occasionally munching on his wrist and catching his tail sweep past the outer corner of his eye.

Right then, any light in the room was extinguished, and I was aggressively strapped into a chair. I was pinned down by about twenty pairs of hairy paws coming at me from everywhere, nails scraping at my skin, the terrifying sound of gnashing teeth in my ears, hot stinking breath on my face. I thought I was in bed with Blathnaid Ni Chofaigh. After my weak struggle, and deflated by the state of my jumper, I just lay back. As I opened my eyes, Badger appeared in front of my face. I shuddered but he tried to calm me. "Oh, I'm sorry did I startle you? I'm awfully sorry about the behaviour of my friend, he's a little on the dramatic side. Being in the shadow of his cousin for so long has made him quite mad." I nodded. Badger had been quiet throughout most of my tenure down here. I noticed the dominance that Fox has on him and feel that, if I'm ever going to get out of here, I have to gain his confidence. In the dim light, I could see him shuffling in his waistcoat and pull something out. Clumsily, lifting a candle up to my face he proceeded to show me a picture that had been torn from a magazine. He had seen this in one of the magazines discarded by the farmers and had fallen in love. Awed by the image before him, he explained the importance. I squinted and audibly bellowed as I made out the shape on the page... Pat Butcher. I tried to explain that she
 


was in fact a character from a popular soap opera, and already a leading light for large aggressive Lesbians, but he was having none of it. He had fashioned several beer bottle tops and a bull-ring to make some earrings and wore these with misguided pride. "You see Foxy has his lady and I have mine. He believes that 'The Megan One' is the true leader but my people have waited for our own. 'The Pat One' wears the streak in her hair, as predicted by 'The Fadge', our earliest Badger scribe and our most holy seer."

Suddenly, he pushed the picture back in his pocket and growled in my face as a noise came from the corner of the room. Fox had re-entered and placed a colander shaped object on my head attached to a load of wires. Following him was a gang of ferrets wheeling in what looked like a projector. Fox launched at my face with a stick, growling "You will join with us. These are my greatest pupils. We might have lost Tom Cruise to those wacky loons but we will convince YOU to be one of us." He pointed to the ferrets and roared "PLAY!" As my eyes were forced open the first in a series of horrific images were relayed on the wall in front of me... the first audition of Jedward on X Factor... aaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh… NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

TO BE CONTINUED...

These are AranMan's predictions for this week's Premiership fixtures. Understandably, he has been under some pressure of late, but he better beat the 4 out of 10 he got last time around as the teabags are running dangerously low in the EI kitchen.

Sat 28th November 2009
Blackburn v Stoke City 15:00 (1 - 1)
Fulham v Bolton 15:00 (2 - 1)
Manchester City v Hull City 15:00 (4 - 1)
Portsmouth v Man Utd 15:00 (1 - 2)
West Ham Utd v Burnley 15:00 (2 - 0)
Wigan Athletic v Sunderland 15:00 (1 - 1)
Aston Villa v Tottenham 17:30 (2 - 2)

Sun 29th November 2009
Wolves v Birmingham 12:00 (2 - 1)
Everton v Liverpool 13:30 (1 - 1)
Arsenal v Chelsea 16:00 (2 - 2

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