Mount’s Melodrama at Old Trafford…
Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Manchester United, there lived a lad named Mason Mount. This poor chap was bamboozled by a hex, ensnared by the infamous No. 7 jersey curse — more notorious than a referee’s red card. Since setting foot at Old Trafford, he has become a rare sight, much like a unicorn or a goal from a goalkeeper. Out of 82 grand matches, Mount has magically vanished for 50, leaving fans scratching heads and counting the games like they’re sheep jumping fences. But lo and behold, our hero has returned to training, albeit for a few weeks, as though his football boots have been enchanted with spells of breakable lace.
Enter stage left, Ruben Amorim, the smooth-talking maestro with the tongue of a bard and heart warmer than a football on a rain-soaked pitch. He swears by Mount’s work ethic like a goldminer chasing fame. Yet, much like a striker with a wooden leg, Mount’s stats are as dry as a summer pitch — a lone goal against Brentford and a single, solitary assist from his Crystal Palace adventure. His skills are not prehistoric, though, as he’s shown flickers of genius worthy of the football gods, like that flick to Ugarte making even the coolest cucumbers crack a smile.
Mount’s saga is more gripping than a penalty shootout, filled with tales of tenacity, trials, and tantalizing treats of talent. Amorim dreams of his star midfielder shining brighter than the floodlights at the Theatre of Dreams. Like knights of old admiring their noble steeds, Frank Lampard, Thomas Tuchel, and Erik ten Hag have all marveled at Mount and praised his football wizardry. Unfortunately, like a player trying to run with floaties on, Mount has battled betrayal by his own body. But hope lingers like a match ball in stoppage time — this could be the dawn of a new Mount empire, with Rooney-esque flair and Giggs-like grace. The saga continues!
