When a superclub finally buys the Dortmund striker it’s worth remembering this is real money – your TV subscription, match ticket and advertising value
In the end it was probably the private zoo that did it. Or the hall of mirrors. Or the talk in the bread queues of drunken banquets where the mille-feuille flowed like wine. Perhaps it was the queen’s private faux-rustic village where she pretended to be a farmhand while glugging porcelain jugs of cream at her marbled bench. I don’t know about you, fellow peasants. But I feel objectified.
Either way historians agree that the March on Versailles, a key event in the French revolution, was sparked by the sense that all this boundless excess – those mirrors, the cream, that alpaca – was in the end just a little too much.
