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 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.