I've been flitting around those parts of Canada where Cesc Febregas' future is less important than which sick old lady the local hockey mascot is visiting, which means I've been completely out of the soccer loop. A few days apart from the news cycle, with only a few opportunities for a cursory glance at guardian.co.uk/football, and suddenly it's like you've stepped out of a frosty Delorian into the wrong alternate universe. How did we get from Spain wins the World Cup to Ashley Young going to Tottenham, or even more incredibly, Toronto FC qualifying for the CCL?
I have no thoughts to share on any of these matters, really. I'm excited about Toronto FC's September, but I've always found late July/early August in MLS to be one of the most soul-destroying periods of football on the calendar. We've done well but it doesn't feel real to me until the Fall. As for the Premier League this year, I'm taking a pass. Yup. Delete me from your reader if you need to. Unfollow me. I've been dreaming of La Liga for sometime, and not just because the Veetle police have left the league unscathed.
I just don't care who wins what in England this year. Villa are coming apart at the seams, and the idea of Tottenham strutting around the Premier League, arms flailing as usual, giving false comfort to England fans, I don't need it. Maybe I'll return next season, but I'm so used to the cycle I don't actually need to watch it unfold yet again.