“I haven’t had the Funky Moped out in a while, Tom. Which way is the Premier League?”

 

 

The question hangs in the air like a joke that’s waiting to land—or a metaphor waiting to be unpacked. The Funky Moped, battered and forgotten, covered in dust, is more than a mode of transport. It’s nostalgia, rebellion, and footballing chaos wrapped up in one unreliable machine. Firing it up is like reigniting a dream that once burned bright: Saturday afternoons, dodgy streams, Match of the Day with a curry.

 

And the Premier League? It’s somewhere between delusion and destiny. City are purring like a Ferrari on cruise control, Arsenal’s got their blinkers on, and United… well, they’ve stalled at the lights again. The table twists with every passing week. Villa dreams, Spurs collapses, and Luton’s fight? That’s the joyride we didn’t expect.

So which way? Past the quiet streets of mediocrity, left at the crossroads of hope and heartbreak, and straight on ‘til madness. The Premier League doesn’t have a map—it’s a chaos compass. And maybe that old Moped still knows the way.

 

“Cling on, Tom. It’s going to be a weird ride.”