Malouda: Training Is “Terrifying”. Wah. Wah.By: The Offside | December 4th, 2007
Florent Malouda has taken great exception to the training methods in London. Malouda, as most may know, is the guy who was tackled by the ghost of Christmas past during the final in Berlin, giving ZZ the chance to put that PK off the bar, as well as being a pretty decent winger. The assumption when Chelsea bought him was that he’d come in a fill Arjen Robben’s boots, which were all too often hanging off the end of the trainer’s table (nothing has changed in Madrid, thanks for asking), only they didn’t mean literally. Malouda, on top of The Queen of Diving, is also injured. And pissed. Because he thinks the “brainless” training methods are to blame.
“Training sessions here are terrifying,” Malouda said. “They are just like matches, and you go flat out. During the actual games it is as though everybody’s brains are switched off.
I’m sure all of you are dumbfounded that a Frenchman is wussing out in practice (Allen Iverson would be proud). What I want to know is this: If practice is ‘terrifying’, and matches are just like practice, does this mean he’s terrified by matches? And if so, then what the @#$% is he doing accepting a paycheck playing professional football. Maybe he’d be better off on clay (I’d say tennis but I fear grass surfaces in general may be a tad much for him to handle).
Florent didn’t stop there, taking shots at teammates who are a bit piggish (I know, I’m scratching my head in wonderment as well):
“The people at Chelsea don’t control what the players eat. You can help yourself to whatever you like, drink Coke or anything.”
Coke?!?! Hard practices?!?!?? Oh the horror! (This is where we prepare for the story that Florent will be out for another 6 months because Frank sat on him and injured his woman parts.)
I’ve often harbored far fetched fantasies that someday we’d have an exchange program between sports, one transferring coaches on year long loans. Where, say, a baseball coach gets to coach a basketball team, or an American football coach takes an overseas jaunt to Europe for some real footy. You know, like Dick Vermeil going to Barca and embracing Ronaldinho in a blubbering man hug on the sidelines the next time Dinho is booed off the pitch because he spent the previous night groping teenagers at a disco. Or Bobby Knight running out onto the field and murdering Antonio Cassano (that’s BK choking his own player at practice, for those wondering). Or Isiah Thomas being allowed to coach a women’s team. Because I’d love to see Bill Parcells at Chelsea, and I’m sure we’d all enjoy the first time he called Florent “she”. Aptly, of course.
Anyway, Florent, be a man and suck it up you Sally.
(Inara also has the story of the French pansy du jour on lock.)