Dear Dychey: Trolls are driving me crackers for speaking my mind – help!

It's a big old nasty internet out there, and sometimes things you say can get a lot of people very angry - just ask Dychey's latest correspondent....


*Dear Dychey is Paddy Power’s Agony Aunt column is not written by anyone who could even pass for a current Premier League manager. Any apparent resemblance to one is purely coincidental.

Dr Dychey (Definitely Not Sean Dyche), clear your throat, take a deep breath, look us straight in the eye and give us the God’s honest truth. We’re sure sport’s high-and-mighty can take it…

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Dear Dychey,

[Left as a voice message]

It’s, errr, Colin here, yeah, that’s who it is, Colin.

I opened my newspaper t’other day and once I’d wiped the tears of laughter away at Matt’s latest witheringly sharp take on current events, I was horrified to discover that some online troll factories had turned their attention to my plain-spoken, common-sense-talking about Brexit.

These keyboard warriors think that just because I said the world outside of this sceptred isle and its various strategic outposts and colonial holdovers can go to hell that I am somehow living in t’past?!

It’s bloody ridiculous!

I understand the world better than most of these anonymous cowards. Only last week day I was reading on the telex machine about the trouble in Rhodesia – sorry, I mean Zimbabwe. That whole place has gone to pot since… [trails off]

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It’s enough to make a man want to lock himself away in his luxury Cornwall homestead, paid for by his portion of the billions of pounds that slosh around English football now thanks to the play and profile of countless foreign footballers who make it most exciting league in the world, not to mention the international TV rights deal and sponsorships those talents bring in, I’ll tell ya!

Anyway, how can I show I’m not a pampered millionaire dinosaur who owes his living to many people from outside the borders of the UK?


[Message ends]

Dychey says: It’s a tough one Colin. Firstly, the online trolls should be sent straight back under the bridge they came from, but you’re way ahead of things on that front as you’re clearly avoiding any technology invented since the pocket calculator.

In fact, I’m impressed you used the phone rather than carrier pigeon to get in touch if I’m honest. The last time I heard of a telex machine I was still a boy soprano, the opera world bowing at the delicacy and range of my as-yet-undamaged vocal tract. Alas…

Back then we were learning about our glorious defiance of Gerry’s malevolence, Gallic incompetence and Gaelic insolence in history class – so not all that different to what you’d be reading in your newspaper of choice these days!

But look Colin, of course, there’s a chance my balls will reascend and I can still follow what should’ve been my musical destiny, just like there’s a chance that Brexit fixes all that ails our nation, but am I trying to force them back up there?

No, I am not.

There’s a possibility it could work, but it’s a slim one – and I must say thank you to the fine staff Dr Maitland’s clinic for investigating all avenues on that front – the likelihood is it’ll be far more painful than I could bear, and less effective than I’d hope.

Sometimes we’ve got accept that things change, the world moves on, dreams of being the next Aled Jones remain dreams, not reality.

Look at Burnley back in the day. What would it have been then? Nine local fellas, one chap from Kettering or Coventry nicknamed “Cockney”, and a tricky Scotch lad who’d drink a bottle of whisky before each game and still be the best player on the pitch.

Where did they ever get? Nowhere.

Now what do they have? There’s obviously the English players still, but then we’ve a whole load of Irish lads, we’ve Ashley Barnes. He’s Austrian! Who have thought it, eh?

BURNLEY, ENGLAND – AUGUST 02: Ashley Barnes of Burnley celebrates after scoring during the UEFA Europa League Second Qualifying Round match between Burnley and Aberdeen at Turf Moor on August 2, 2018 in Burnley, England. (Photo by Nathan Stirk/Getty Images)

There’s an Icelander, a Dane, Chris Wood’s from New Zealand. It’s a real melting pot!

We’ve even got Steven Defour all the way from Belgium, the belly of the beast. He’s not a bad lad, but changing all the gym weights from pounds to metric was really pushing it.

They’re a far better team because of the ability bring in these lads, the football’s better for it too, and it makes the Premier League the best in the world.

While it would be great to think we could wind the clock back to what we believe to be better times – personally, the era when you could be ugly, bald and still be a popstar holds many great memories for me – but for every Mark Knopfler back in the day, there’s a Pitbull now.

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Have you ever heard that “Timber” tune? It’s a real “banger”, as the kids say.

Things have changed, but that’s an opportunity for improvement.

Forget about telling the world to go to hell Colin, why not open up and be Mr Worldwide instead?

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