How Theo Walcott came to snag a £100,000 per week deal at Arsenal
Theo: I don’t know what to do, Godfather. My crossing is weak, my passing is horrific, I can run really, really fast but my ball-control borders on the comical and I still can’t grow proper facial hair. Anyway, if I had this contract, it would make Gareth Bale really jealous, you know. But this… this man out there. He won’t give it to me, the head coach.
Don Corleone: What’s his name?
Theo: Wenger. Wenger. He won’t give it to me and he says there’s no chance, no chance… Anyway, last week Gareth told me he had cultivated these magic beans and that all I had to do was to stick them under my pillow before I went to bed every night for a month and I’d be able to grow a proper tache. Thing is though, the monkey-faced bastard wants £100,000 for them. Oh, Godfather, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do…
Don Corleone: YOU CAN ACT LIKE A MAN!
[Hits Theo smartly across the face like an errant prostitute]
What’s the matter with you? Is this what you’ve become, an Islington finocchio who cries like a woman? “Oh, what can I do? What can I do?” What is that nonsense? Ridiculous!
Tell me, do you take the piss out of Gervinho’s ridiculous aubergine-shaped head?
Theo: Sure I do
Don Corleone: Good. Because a man who doesn’t take the piss out of Gervinho’s ridiculous aubergine-shaped head can never be a real man.
You look terrible. I want you to eat, I want you to fuck some bitches. And a month from now this Wenger big shot’s gonna give you what you want.
Theo: Too late. They’re already drawing up blueprints for a machine to extract my natural pace and put it in Per Mertesacker.
Don Corleone: I’m gonna make him an offer he won’t refuse.
The following night, Arsene Wenger awoke with a start to find the severed head of Abu Diaby in his bed. That’s a true story.