My Name is Nobody…and sorry for the “tuteo”(informal you)
by Jorge Enrique Abello
Schumacher may well be champion, but he is detestabel
Michael Schumacher, you will never, believe me; never become a Rolling Stone, even though you maneuver a Ferrari very well at 350km/hr. If Andy Warhol had met you, he would have made a pop version serigraphy of you in maroon. Yes, you are the champion, I agree, six times a champion,that noted, you made Fangio bite the dust, I can put up with that; you break records in each race and then give statements to the press in your"British"english of an educated boy, that I accept; you have what wise ones call"luck of a champion”, but you will be remembered, at least by me, as the most boring champion of all times, that without taking into consideration that the number of times you won over Montoya(who really has blood in his veins unlike the “chucrut”(sauerkraut-German pickled cabbage) that you have in yours)crossing the yellow flag without being penalized.My dear Michael, I do not trust you, I cannot trust somebody who participates in charity matches and pursues all that crap as if squeezing a bean with the buttocks. If David plays soccer adorning his rear-end with Victoria’s panties, I am sure that you do it with your granny’s corset.
You give out a long yawn in the afternoon after having pumpkin soup. I am sure that in your privacy and when nobody is looking at you, while walking inside any hotel room, with your deranged and still walk, you fascinate yourself listening to Julio Lglesias, thank God he does not sing, but in little mouse-like tiptoes and the many hours of shampooing and blow-drying, devotes himself to torturing poor Strauss with his pink satin waltzes. You should turn up Andre Rieu to full volume, while you move your glance and you wring out the nylon stocking slips that you wear packed tightly up the knees. Some day they will get you varicose veins, and cram-full euros in a Caribbean Island that you will show them shamelessly wearing a good pair of phosphorescent blue slippers just to look like another islander, while your last"anthropologic experience” caresses your back to the rhythm of Richard Clayderman, who I am sure is another one of your favourites.
Be grateful to Ayrton, who left before time, to Enzo for inspiration and to the owner of the Formula 1,who is capable of making rain so that your little Bridgestone tires, which only on water will go faster than Montoya’s, who you will know is a “real man " and not a “red”(red here might mean a communist) as you are Schumi, he is a true man. Also, I want to tell you that Schumi around here means a hair roller, those that the ladies wear in the head for their hair.
You, Mickey, are the Mouse of Europe and you keep walking through life in the hands of Walt Disney, because you won Indianapolis, a fantasy that even myself do not believe.
You should still be laughing out loud(with your big mouth) at Montoya and Kimi, but I want you to know something from here, from a place you will never know, where your adenoids will never be ill-treated by pollution, from this made up continent and crafted by time, full of “sudacas”(Hispanics), dark but courageous, I want to tell you, that you are the most BORING person I have ever met in my life, you escaped from Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum and when you received the laurels on your sixth title it well be as boring as watching a match of Scrabble in a nun boarding school.
Michael Schumacher, you have made adrenaline for Formula1, as tasteless and melancholic as celery juice.
Congratulations on your championship…
Ah! and sorry for the “tuteo”, Schumi.
Original Source: Mi nombre es Nadie..y perdona por lo del tutes by Jorge Enrique Abello, Colombian Edition of Rolling Stone Magazine(October 2003)