The gay man's sport

Last night’s Man U-Inter match was a very dull affair. A little like my insipid love life at the moment. I watched the game at a friend’s house, through three Imara-kama-Simbas and a fine dish of Ugali with beef stew. I woke this morning to the sound of roaring lions in my head which I blame on the Pilsners; I am sticking to Tusker from now on.

Pretty-faced Ronaldo is ok but best player on and off the pitch has to be man’s-man Giggs who seems to be having a renaissance – I feel like I’m due a renaissance myself. For a gay man like me, watching footie is all about checking out who looks hot and who’s not so hot.

If I were a manager picking a fantasy team for the premier league of a very different kind of sport…hmmm...my tag-team would definitely feature Giggs. I also wouldn’t complain about a tackle from Ashley Cole and neither would I bring myself to kick Theo Walcott out of bed. I’m not a Ronaldo hater but his delicate looks don't score with me. I find him too ‘trophy-wifey’ for my liking. And if I worked in the locker-room then Lampard should definitely have an early bath every day! (I couldn't resist the puns, sorry).

You can say I have a deep and thorough understanding of the sport.