The curse of Petr Cech
Is there a higher force at work?
Hoddle was right, some people are cursed. Perhaps not in the same repulsively narrow minded and disturbing fashion he attempted to smudge on the nation’s brains, but somewhere in the same spooky ballpark. After all, look at Petr Cech – he obviously spent a former life making scathing remarks to a princess, or waging war on harmless little butterflies. Because, as things stand, his life just got rubbish.
Everything was looking great for the Czech stopper – Ranieri snaffled him for £7 million in 2004, Chelsea life was looking just as swish and glamourous as it said in the brochures, and everyone was going crazy for “the best goalkeeper in the world”. He was literally blowing people’s minds. And then it all went hideously wrong.
First he had his lovely gentlemanly skull trampled on to the point where he has to wear a novice version of a gimp mask, then his mouth got split open during a harmless kickabout – that’ll scar, Petr.
Last night was simply the bitter tasting icing on the world’s most revolting cake, as the keeper made an almighty hash of probably the simplest of saves. His buttery gloves gifting the Turks with an impressive comeback.
“The only positive thing about this season is that it’s over,” said Cech after the game, sparking rumours that he may have sold his soul to the devil after all.
Can he bounce back from this one? Or should we tentatively be whispering the words “suicide” and “watch” in no particular order?
In other news, Ian Wright has four sugars in his tea. Seriously.