SACRÉ BLEU!
When Leo Messi hoisted the World Cup trophy towards the sky a week before Christmas, he had the air of a man who had no more effs left to give. And why would he? Like a combination of Eric Bristow and Alexander the Great in an overblown Sid Waddell simile, the man had no more worlds left to conquer … unless of course you count Saudi Arabia, who are paying him £25m per year to shill for them as a tourism ambassador, a sum not even a man richer than Scrooge McDuck doing the backstroke in a pool full of gold doubloons would turn down lightly for an occasional enforced invasion. It’s an ostensibly cushy gig; bank the loot, then travel en famille to pose for a series of photos in which you grin alongside some palm-weavers, gazelles and an underwhelmed falcon at the behest of the Saudi Tourism Authority (STA). Job done.
