Wayne Rooney has been given a £5 million advance on five volumes of his autobiography by HarperCollins.
There’s only one Wayne Rooney, but how many ghosts
will help write his adventures between the goalposts?
At a million per volume of biographical fudge
you’d hope for word wizardry to make gold of the sludge;
the swearing, the tantrums, the overwhelming ennui.
For this sort of money perhaps JK Rowling’s free?
There’s something appealing about a potato-head Potter
who’s a whiz with a football but a bit of a blotter
when it comes to keeping the copybook clean –
and she’d make it easier to adapt his life for the screen.
Wouldn’t it be splendid if Alex Ferguson appeared
looking resplendent in a Dumbledore beard?
And imagine the excitement if Gazza came back
as Rooney’s footballing godfather, an alkie Sirius Black.
She’d doubtless invent Wayne a heroic private life
which he’d live with élan on the edge of a knife
whilst still finding time to win the World Cup
quite single-handed without even waking up
from a dream of a life that he’s yet to live.
Fantasy’s fine if you’ve nothing to give.