Restraint on blog posts just wasn't to be. Too many feelings, you see, are floating 'round in late summer sunshine worldwide at the onset of myriad seasons. For the following reasons the end of August has captivated us peons: Nine months of footy to follow, More for La Liga, Title Races, teams uncomfotable in odd UEFA Cup places, Blackburn are on the map, Sven is back and walking on water. Sir Alex hasn't yet releaved what he stows beneath that coat and by winter we'll have sorted the men from the stoats. Ronnie and Rooney share the stage with Nanni and Carlito, Italy has the hopes of having a scandal free season, maybe mob violence will silence to reason, net-minders to endure the Catalan's Fantastic Four, Juventus offically in flight after scorer's delight, Lyon's roster is no more for an exodus was in store, living the dream newly promoted teams blacken their blades at night, some players seek better futures through last gasp transfer rumors, all whilst David Beckham is causing Beatlemania, outright hysteria. Yet, how and why is this good for the United States of America? Our world anticipates its footballing magicians taking stage. All at the fingertips, soon restored, now and forevermore.
