So on Thursday we're going to DC to face the legendary, world renowned, almost mythical beast which is Wayne F*ckface Rooney, who has washed up onto our pathetic soccer shores after having been a washout back where he belongs. It is entirely appropriate that this whiny, disloyal, money-grubbing scouser turned up in MLS playing for the DC Scum, singlehandedly saving Ben 'Crybaby' Olsen's job after what seems like endless decades of utter incompetence as coach of a feckless bunch of carefully hand-picked street bums - excuse me, I mean "roofing challenged citizens" - in the global capital of lowlife grifters and thieves who would peddle their dear old Granny's ass down at the Greyhound station for a sixpack of Pabst. Rooney, who was a modestly effective striker when coached by God and backed up by arguably the single greatest sideline-to-sideline midfield in world club soccer history, rewarded the love and loyalty of the fans who shelled out hard earned money to shower him with adoration by repeatedly threatening to kick them all in the sack and run off to play for City or Chelski or anyone else who waved a pile of cash under his pug-like nose unless they backed a dump truck full of money up to his garage and filled it to the rafters with loot. Fortunately for him, the singular lack of assorted World Cup memorabilia in there just meant more room for more money to pay for his pathetic Hair Club for Men hair plug transplants since he prefers looking like a cheap late night TV ad to shaving his head like real soccer men like Michael Bradley and Bob Bradley and lots of other Bradleys too. Also Grant Wahl. So when Rooney's act finally ran dry in England - his "return to his roots" was about going back to play at Everton, not going in for another hair transplant, which he may not have fully understood seeing as how he has the IQ of a bag of walnuts - he went looking for some other team that was willing to shower him with ludicrous amounts of money while playing in front of arrogant, clueless, mouthbreathing imbeciles similar to ManU fans in a city where he can still get a decent curry takeaway, serendipity steered him to DC. So now we're supposed to ooh and ahhh and faint dead away every time this chubby little money grubbing phony touches foot to ball. The interwebz are now filling up with wall-to-wall videos of one prodigious Wayne Rooney exploit after another. Here's Rooney scoring a goal. Here's Rooney pulling on his socks. Here's Rooney taking a piss. Marvel at the wonderfulness. If there's one thing that Don Garber is praying to his god - Alan Rothenberg - for every night before he drifts off to sleep to dream about swimming naked in Scrooge McDuck size vaults of money with Anthony "Two Chins" Precourt, it's a long and glorious DC run in the playoffs so the league PR gerbils can crank out more soft core porn featuring Wayne Rooney to ignorant, Aqua Velva soaked, soccer-hating sportswriters across the fruited plain. Miguel Almiron, Diego Valeri, Maxi Moralez, who the hell cares? Can't look up from another slobbering Baker Mayfield piece to figure out who guys with funny names are. But Wayne Rooney - didn't he play for that big team over in, like Britain or England or someplace? So we're all now required to genuflect to Wayne F*cking Rooney, mercenary paycheck chaser who is here to teach us Colonials the true meaning of jerkdom. All hail!!!