Christ on a crutch. Imagine waking up one day as the Manchester City fan. You wake up and your radio begins the day with "roll with it" by Oasis, you go through to the bathroom and brush your teeth with aquafresh toothpaste (but you have to get rid of the red bit and only use the blue and white because you're not going to use that rag scum), then going down to breakfast after letting your dogs Sergio and Niall out the back door to have a wee. You put the telly on and there's the news and it's official: Manchester City are the biggest grossing team in world football.
"Fantastic", you think to yourself, "Finally our ascension gets recognised" as you hear the postman. A thick envelope pops through the door "Must be my 10 free season tickets arriving again, same as last year" you exclaim. I've been struggling to convince the wife to go, and the homeless people I gave the last 9 to apparently burned them for heat, but this time, as the treble winners, surely it will be different. Unfortunately, no, most of them are still rag scum and your kids friends in Stockport primary school seen to still be putting on those dirty manc jerseys all the time. To hell with those rag scum, it's all about the girls these days innit. But apparently they don't seem to agree with the whole "being owned by multiple husbands" or "not being allowed things like being able to drive a car" thing. But your lads (a team of mercenaries from all over the world) best THEIR lads (a worse team of mercenaries from all over the world plus some Salford scum) lately. So none of it makes ANY SENSE.
But this 790m revenue thing? That makes sense. That makes the most sense of all, you chuckle as you eat your blue mouldy toast and do a little Poznan to yourself.
