The Unbearable Lightness Of Being Gary Neville

Ollie Irish

11th, February 2011


By Ollie Irish

A pictorial tribute to Manchester’s finest, the one, the only G-Nev…

“I will leave United one day…”

“Then you’re dead to me already.”

F**k this – I could be training for United right now.

I really can’t hold this smile for much longer.

I would kill for this badge.

Seriously man, you and me, we’re f**king done professionally. F**king ass.

I love this big blond bastard.

I can’t tell you how much of a twat you look with that shaved eyebrow.

The thinker.

The angry shouter.

Nom nom nom.

This isn’t a f**king game, you know. This is Manchester United.

We sold Eric Djemba-Djemba!

No one understands what it means to be Gary Neville. No one, I tell you!

The colour blue is for c**ts, quite honestly. Now just take the f**king picture.

You don’t have to be a prick every day of your life, you know.

Just an inch higher, Becks… hot damn, right there.

Dead to me. I told you before.

Take this plate… why? Don’t ask why, just take the f**king plate. Jesus.

“Twenty thousand Scousers and not one of them thought to say ‘calm down’!” Ah, that’s a good one.

The angry wheelbarrow.

Theatre of Dreams, bitches!

International man of mystery.

You’re right, Wazza. That horse does look like Van Nistelrooy.

Where the f**k is my United golf umbrella?

This is bullshit.

I crave your gingerness. You complete me.

Ah, Mr Carragher… I’ve been expecting you.

Calm down, la…

Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape.

So long Comrade Neville: thanks for the memories. You were the wonky-faced prince of wind-up merchants. We shall miss you lots.