Last night's nerd togger - well in wankchops.

This isn't from my game - I'm not that pathetic

Those last three words have become my stock message to those who quit early. It happened again last night, and best of all, it was against nerd Liverpool.
You never know which nerd Everton will turn up so it's always a gamble going them, and against some teams I wouldn't bother. But nerd Liverpool, now with that lumping nerd Andy Carroll up front, are hopeless.
A few teams' ratings are a bit off - Liverpool are over-rated at 4.5 stars, same as Manchester City are under-valued at the same level.
Everton are probably worth just under their four stars as they have the capacity to be truly abysmal, with Neville and Heitinga equally horrendous in possession and Arteta useless except for free kicks.
Then there's Howard, who can be brilliant some games but in others the ball seems to go right through him. Your joke here.
All this considered I reckoned I'd be okay as nerd EFC versus their cross-nerd counterparts in red and started off 4-4-2, but the fellow I was playing was half decent so I had to switch to 4-3-1-2 as I was getting nerdily over-run in the middle.
I was still conceding a lot of ground but my opponent lacked the wit to get through, and while he had a lot of possession (75-25 in the first 10 minutes), never got close to scoring.
Gradually he started getting narked and sliding in all over the place and I knew I had him. Five minutes before the break Fellaini shrugged Gerrard off the ball before loping forward and playing in Baines down the left. He cut in and found Cahill, back to goal, who spun his marker before curling one in the top corner.
The second half was more of the same with nerd Liverpool having slightly more of the ball but getting nowhere, and it was nerd Everton looking more dangerous.
As t'reds piled forward in increasingly desperate nerd waves I had a few chances to clinch it. Then with the game moving into injury time, Arteta slipped Beckford in on halfway.
He raced clear with two defenders trying to pull him back. The keeper came legging it out and, from just outside the box, Beckford lifted it over him. The keeper got a touch which sent the ball looping towards the bar, it clipped the underside and plopped over the line, with a defender sliding after it in a futile gesture.
Cue, my opponent pulling the plug, and me sending my new message. You see, Johann Hari, you don't have to make it up.