The Dutchman and the Quack

In the news this week is the slighly disturbing talk of Eastern European horse placenta injury treatments, as popularised by Arsenal’s Robin Van Persie.

Given a choice between staying at home with the wife for several months and a trip to see a therapist who wouldn’t be out of place in an episode of The Simpsons, most of us would consider Secret Option #3 – The Miraculous Recovery. Which might be a large part of the treatment’s secret:

OK, Mr. Van Persie, today’s treatment done, you come back in three days for second course.

Er, shecond course? The Arsenal doctor shaid nothing of this.

Yes, we keep doing it until skin secrete smell of horse.

You know, is amazing, I feel better shuddenly. I not need to come back again.

(Please forgive the shoddy Serbian & Dutch accents, I’m still practising)

So football is moving on from the dark days of the oxygen tent and is dabbling in more agricultural sciences. Little did RVP realise he was being packed off to Serbia’s answer to James Herriot.

Apparently though, both Liverpool and Manchester City players have been sent to the same vet for the treatment, and RVP himself learnt of it from a PSV Eindhoven player.

Surely it’s only a matter of time before Peter Crouch is sent to Atlanta’s Centre for Disease Control for a dose of Ebola to cure his shin splints.

Meanwhile I’m off to get some treatment for a virulent case of man-flu. Think I’ll stick with the Benylin.