Hands up who is shocked, stunned and in total disbelief that Wayne Rooney has cheated on his wife? Anyone? No, me neither. I am, however, in utter astonishment that this hideous gargoyle has actually succeeded in bedding a FOURTH woman (There was that granny prostitute too, remember. The calibre of the man.)
Anyway, every time some high profile footballer does the dirty on his WAG, the tabloids present the story to us like it’s something new and original. ‘Wayne Rooney Scandal!’, ‘Rooney cheats on pregnant Coleen with hooker Juci Jenny,’ and my personal favourite, ‘Rooney – cheating shit!’ are just a handful of the headlines plastering our papers this fortnight. But, thinking about it logically, is this situation really all that shocking? No. Rooney, Crouch, Cole, Ronaldo, Terry, Gerrard (I could go on), are young, testosterone driven multimillionaires with IQs to match your average slug, who have constant streams of girls (whores), hurling themselves at their mercy wherever they go. And these simple creatures simply can’t help themselves. Admittedly, having to actually pay for the sex is a sorry, if inevitable, state of affairs for the likes of Rooney and Crouch, but the cheating itself comes as no surprise whatsoever.
For some unbeknownst reason, most of these footballers seem intent on tying themselves down too young and too early into their relationships. One minute they’ve got a gorgeous woman hanging off their arm to parade in front of the media, and the next that woman has turned into a wife and a couple of kids. And there are baby seats in the back of the Bentley. Definitely not in keeping with the playboy image. So when such a quarter-life crisis of identity ensues, what’s a rich, high-profile, intellectually challenged man to do? Check into an expensive hotel suite and spend the night tapping a couple of grubby prostitutes, that’s what. Then toss them a few grand to keep their mouths shut (because they’re renowned for that in their line of business), and a couple of months later be really surprised that Juci Jenny and co have broken their pinky promise and sold their sordid stories to anyone who’ll give them column inches. I mean, seriously, what the hell made Rooney think he’d get away with these sleazy shenanigans when so many before him haven’t? He can’t possibly have thought he was clever enough to pull off a stunt like this and walk away totally unscathed? A man who’d suffer severe difficulties outsmarting a nit? No. He must simply be even thicker than we thought. Impressive.
Still, if he’s been good for one thing it’s providing Coleen with a leg-up to start her own career and become a household name in her own right – she doesn’t need him anymore. Oh, but what’s that? She’s taking him back? Giving him a final warning? I’m not being funny, but surely partaking in a threesome constitutes two yellow cards already? Possibly even three, seeing as one of them is ginger and they’re both incredibly ugly. By my calculations, he should be right out – condemned to a life of ready meals for one with only his right hand for company. But it is not to be. He will be forgiven, and he will do it again, and so it goes on. So no, footballers being caught with their tracksuits round their ankles is not a ‘shock’ or a ‘surprise’ – it is merely a weary predictability.
