“My fellow Americans, and football fans all over the world—let me tell you something very, very important. Manchester City—great team, fantastic team, some say the best, I used to say that—they just got knocked out of the Club World Cup by Al-Hilal. Can you believe it? Al-Hilal. Tremendous name, sounds a little like a cough drop, doesn’t it? But folks, they played well. Some people are saying they’re the best team in the universe right now, and I don’t know, maybe they are. Maybe they are.
Now, City—they had all the money, they had the best manager, some say the greatest manager of all time, Pep Guardiola. I met him once. I said “Pep, love the name. It’s short. Very efficient. Like your midfield.”
And look, I have to say it—the referees? Questionable. Very questionable. Some of the worst calls I’ve ever seen. One of them didn’t even speak English, which is outrageous, because how can you make fair decisions if you’re not speaking the language of freedom and football? Terrible. Just terrible officiating.
Now, anyway, we’re proud of our boys, even though they’re not American boys, but they’re close enough. Some of them speak English, which is wonderful. Really wonderful.
I’m seeing something very strange right now. The Earth looks very small. Has anyone noticed that? Why are my feet floating? Why does this podium feel… like it’s made of cheese?
Folks… we are on the moon. This is the moon, and nobody told me. Unbelievable. I said we should’ve gone back. I said that. I told NASA, “Get us back to the moon, and build a hotel.” They laughed. They’re not laughing now. Look at this place. It’s huge. So many craters. The best craters.
Wait—why is that flag not moving? That’s suspicious. Very suspicious. Maybe it’s rigged. Maybe the moon is rigged, folks. It’s all fake.”
He had the look of a man who’d once known where he was, but had misplaced it—like a pair of reading glasses or a second wife. You could see it in his hands, the way they kept making invisible deals with the air. He wasn’t really talking about Manchester City anymore. He wasn’t really talking at all. The whole thing was a kind of lonely waltz with memory and ego. It was like watching your grandfather try to retell a dream he’d had in 1956 while eating a jelly sandwich with no jelly.
And the way he looked up—right at nothing—and said “Pep’s bald because the moon took his hair”… well, that was the moment I knew he was gone. Not physically. Just the part of him that knew what football was. Or Earth.
They tried to grow a pitch on the moon once, but all they could manage was AstroTurf.
