To Russia with love

Manchester United versus Chelsea in the Champions League final then. First things first: huge apologies to the good people of Moscow. When the Russian powers that be gave the OK for Luzhniki Stadium to host the game, they no doubt had a glorious festival of football in mind: the cosmopolitan teams of, say, Barcelona and AC Milan fighting it out on the pitch, cheered on by their beautiful, cultured and well-coiffured fans. Instead they’re stuck with a load of Manc scallies and West London chavs being sick all over Red Square and shinning up the Kremlin’s drainpipes to steal lead from the roof (that’s based on the dubious assumption that the Kremlin has a lead roof - or even drainpipes for that matter - which I must confess is not something I’ve looked into that closely.)

The worst of it is that outgoing president Vladimir Putin probably saw it as a nice little leaving present for the country: “Alright chaps, I’m off next week, but don’t forget I’ve booked that footie match in for the 21st.”

“Oh right, yeah, cheers Vlads. That’s two teams from the country we’ve been getting on with so well recently, yeah? Do you think it’s worth doing a fly-by with a couple of bombers before kick-off?”

However, if Putin is worried that his farewell gift is starting to look like a bit of an own goal (sorry, John Arne, no offence), perhaps it’s worth inviting over Sir Alex Ferguson and Avram Grant - the managers of the respective teams involved in the final - to smooth the way…

Putin: Gentlemen, thank you very much for coming today, it is a great honour to have two such respected footballing men visit our fine country.

Ferguson: Too bloody right it is. Now hurry up will ye, I’ve got places to be.

Grant: (Mumbles incomprehensibly.)

P: Okaaaay. So, the reason I’ve asked you to come today is because I’m a little worried about your fans causing some trouble in our capital. We are, after all, a peace-loving nation-

F: (Snorts.)

P: Do you have something to say, Mr Ferguson?

F: That’s “Sir” to you, you jumped-up little shit.

P: Excuse me?

G: (Mumbles incomprehensibly.)

P: Mr Grant, would you care to speak up?

G: I don’t know.

P: What do you mean, you don’t know?

G: I don’t know.

P: Are you trying to cause me problems, Mr Grant?

G: No, I don’t know. I like your drain pipes.

P: Mr Ferguson, where are you going?

F: (Tapping his watch) I told ye, I told

P: What did you-

F: (Spitting out gum) Fuck ye! (Slams door.)

G: (Mumbles incomprehensibly.)

P: What now, Grant?

G: Nothing. No. I don’t know. Um, I will have to tell Roman about this…

No, seriously Moscow – and especially you, Mr Putin, you lovely, lovely man you – we’re really very sorry. And when Christiano Ronaldo nutmegs his way into Alina Kabeyeva’s affections and runs off - doing pointless step-overs as he goes - with the presidential gymnastic girlfriend, we’ll be even more apologetic. Not to mention when Peter Cech accidentally walks into a wall (ultimately requiring a protective ushanka hat for a fractured skull) knocks it down in the process and reveals the whereabouts of Andrei Lugovoi.

But hey, football: bloody hell. Sorry, did you want that bit of lead?