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Get away from my soccer team, Piers Morgan

Everything Piers Morgan touches turns to shit. Stay away from our soccer team, Piers.

Scott Barbour

You may hate Piers Morgan for a lot of reasons, but the first and foremost reason to hate his attempted leap on to the American World Cup bandwagon is this: everything he touches turns to shit. He became editor of the News of the World, a paper that now no longer exists. He was fired from the Daily Mirror after a long series of incompetency, and then joined the toiletization of CNN before dragging down the ratings and ultimately getting canceled. If Piers Morgan just walked into your Starbucks, then that Starbucks, and two adjoining businesses, are now completely on fire, and he is whistling and walking out with free coffee.

If Piers Morgan enters your club, your club is about to be crushed by the steaming guano of a passing nine-ton mutant fruit bat.

You can also hate him because the USMNT are in a fight, and Piers Morgan is very, very bad at fighting. He was punched repeatedly in a fight by a fat man with a bad smoking habit. He was out-dueled in a debate by Alex Jones, a conspiracy theorist who sincerely believes robots are going to rule humanity by next Wednesday. Piers Morgan has in fact lost most every public debate he's ever had, including the one he had with gravity while falling off a Segway. The earth broke three of Piers Morgan's ribs. If you didn't love it for being your home, you love Earth a little more now after reading that.

You can hate him because after somehow becoming one of Great Britain's Fifty Official Celebrities who make money simply by bouncing from one doomed BBC franchise to another, he has attempted to do the same in the United States with disastrous results. Glomming onto our soccer team is just one more step in the failed wooing of the United States, a country whose culture Morgan understands about as well as he understands British privacy laws. We like our Brits haughty without the need to be liked, like Simon Cowell. We like ones who solve mysteries in tiny New England towns in 47 minutes, like Angela Lansbury. We love Adele, who isn't particularly American for any reason but whatever. She can get a free Michael Bradley jersey on the house anytime.

We love Hugh Laurie and Idris Elba most, and primarily because most of us believe they are, in fact, American. And passports and facts aside, Piers, that's enough for us. Being American is less a fact than a belief; that you, like House, can diagnose the disease while dispensing a series of brutal one-liners. It's the belief that even when you find yourself in the clutches of sea monsters like Ghana, Portugal, and Germany, you can grit your teeth, build a giant Clint Dempsey kaiju Jaeger, and cancel your apocalypse. That's what President Luther Stringer Bell taught us. That's what we believe.

And yes, I believe in our hastily constructed, half-German giant robot soccer team, Piers Morgan. I also believe you should get the entire fuck away from it, immediately. In closing: Get away from my team, plague monkey, before you infect it with whatever franchise-killing dengue you carry in your bones.