Lost so far in the frenzy of Nats-related news and action is the fact I've yet to state my favorite club side. It's Liverpool. Two people are to blame for that: Kevin Keegan and Steve McManaman. The former, because I wore his boots as a kid (though I never latched onto Hamburg) and the latter because the first time I saw him play I loved him. When Macca and Robbie Fowler ascended to the senior team, we just started getting regular Premier League (orwhateverthefucktheycalleditthen) games in the U.S. and I was instantly smitten. It helps that I'm built like Macca, tall and reed thin, and we shared the same number, 17.
In that vein, the news that Michael Owen is undergoing a physical at Manchester United makes me gag on my uvula. Owen was a hero, as well, and I nearly named my son after him (would have if I could have gotten the former Mrs. to agree, but she's a Swede and "Owen" allegedly "sounds gay in Swedish").
Owen's exploits and injury history are well known, and I have little interest in seeing him return to Anfield, but to go to Old Trafford? Regardless of what he has left in the tank (little, says I), to see him in that shirt will kill a part of me.
Perhaps the uvula.
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