Guardiola’s Wild Ride at Craven Cottage…
In a football script Shakespeare himself would scratch his wig at, Manchester City are tiptoeing into Fulham with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for cats approaching cucumbers. They’re parked in third gear going into this madcap final match like a turbo-charged electric scooter on sale day. If Pep’s boys can beat Fulham, they’re heading to the Champions League faster than a streaker evading security. But lurking in the shadows like a clowder of football-hungry cats are Newcastle, Chelsea, and Aston Villa, each with calculators in hand and dreams of penalty-shootout parties.
Across the land of goals and glory, Newcastle’s hoping to Magic Mike those three points against Everton, while Forest and Chelsea wrestle in the proverbial mud pit for supremacy. Meanwhile, Aston Villa are making a wild trek to the Theatre of Dreams armed with ambitions bolder than Uncle Bob’s karaoke night. It’s a statistics hurricane where City only needs a fingertip touch at a draw against Fulham to keep the others on their toasters, as only a combo-wombo of monumental proportions can dethrone them.
Should things go south and City’s spy glasses get foggy with defeat, they’ll be crossing fingers for hiccups from the other contenders. For if the Toon Army, the Pensioners, and the Villans all manage to snipe a win, City might just find themselves singing in the Europa League. So, as it stands, Man City’s like a bicycle balancing on a tightrope over a comedic pool of anticipation, hoping not to tumble gracefully into Europe’s friendlier, albeit less glamorous, embrace.
