It's all so raggishly-Hollywood, so excessive and grandiose, and yet somewhat it's also cheap and gaudy, just downright tacky.
They're paying an absolutely breathtaking amount of money for a man who is approaching middle-age simply because of who he is, not what he can do for them on the pitch, where it matters.
He is a flamboyant showman who will delight the lemmings with his flicks and step-overs, of that there's no doubt.
He will have the Asian day trippers gasping in astonishment when he performs an an intricate 'sleight of the foot' for no reason whatsoever, and they'll give him a standing ovation when he delicately flips the ball from one cloven hoof to the other, but they will ignore the fact that while he is doing these overly-impressive tricks he is doing absolutely nothing to help his team with the task in hand.
As I say it's pure Hollywood, the smell of the greasepaint and all that. Trumpet fanfares and marching bands accompanying his every move, like hordes of peasants lining the paths of Rome as the all-conquering warrior Caesar returns from the battlefield, triumphantly waving a bloodied excalibur above his head.
'Nauseating' is an insufficient adjective with which to describe that club.