Before I waffle about the mind control, subdued population, absurd money spent on players and poor talent identification. (All of which point to unresolved aspirations of footballing greatness.) I will put my Premier League predictions down on virtual paper.

1.Man Utd
2. Chelsea
3. Liverpool
4.Man City
5. Spurs
6.Arsenal
7.West Ham
8. Leicester
9.Southampton
10. Everton
11. Swansea
12. Stoke
13. Crystal Palace
14. Watford
15. Hull
16. Bournemouth
17.West Brom
18. Middlesbrough
19. Sunderland
20. Burnley

There you go, you may use this to make a lot of money if you wish. It is being written with less than an hour until kick off, my fantasy premier squad is locked in.

Where this may go wrong – the top six, middle fourteen and bottom four.
I do feel confident about the top six, perhaps arsenal and spurs will switch, maybe west ham will make their way in there. Liverpool and City could switch too.
Sunderland could be a surprise package, David Moyes could pull them up the table but I think they are due a relegation. Relegation teams are anybodies guess to be honest.

For all I am looking forward to an exciting league, I hope that the prem doesn’t start to resemble the NBA. I like dynasties.

I think the first manager to be fired will be Franco Guidolin.
Top scorer will be Zlatan. I am not permitted to type anything else by the law of Zlatan.

Paul Pogba will finish the season in jail, struggling to find a regular place behind Fellaini, Jones and Carrick, he will kidnap Sir Alex in order to convince him to pull some strings. Locked in the boiler room in Carrington, Sir Alex tied to old Audi bucket chair, Pogba will convince him using his kickboxing skills, beating him relentlessly. Blood runs from Sir Alexs mouth which is stuffed with the socks Pogba has been using to train with the u21s.
Upstairs, the minions Martial and Depay will run diversions, Depay using Pogbas official twitter account. Martials conscience gets the better of him eventually and he pulls Jose aside. “Boss, there is something bad happening.”
Jose lashes out thinking he is facing another player revolt.
The eager press capture this spat from a sneaky knoll overlooking the Boss’s office, as Martial storms out Jose batters his desk. The screen of his computer comes alive and he is faced with the knowledge that the worlds most expensive footballer is hidden in the boiler room. GPS (global positioning socks) alert him as much.
The press storm the gates to see what Jose is upto and all parties descend on the Carrington boiler room.
Pogba faces Sir Alex.
“You must get me on the pitch, I am a winner!” he screams as he forces a low dig into Sir Alexs ribs.
He removes the socks from the mouth of Sir Alex, whose club tie hangs limply across his chest, the blood from his face staining a pristine white shirt which is open at the neck. His club blazer is ragged and ripped at one shoulder.
Gasping for Air… “I’m sowwy pawl, its not my team any mow.” There is a valiant glint in his eye as his chin slumps to his chest in exhaustion.
Just then Jose kicks down the door to a blast of steam from a unspecified source. The darkness, emergency light and camera flashes mix poignantly to illuminate the frame of Paul Pogba and Sir Alex.
From nowhere the flying frame of Zlatan, the last loyal Mourinho recruit, effortlessly recreates Cantonas karate kick – meeting with the pink dyed skull of Pogba. Pogbas head strikes a pipe and steam billows as he spreads across the floor unconscious.
“Good work, Zlatan.” Mourinho pats the bottom of the Swede as he pads off back upstairs.
“He couldn’t handle the pressure.” Zlatan winks and disappears behind a cloud of steam.
Jose rips the boot laces which have tied Sir Alex to the chair and a familiar club doctor rushes in.
Jose brushes Sir Alexs hair as he gets lifted into a club ambulance. A brief second of consciousness flickers on Sir ALexs face. “Tell Cathy…”
A single tear falls down the face of Mourinho. “Yes boss.” he says slowly.
“Yes, boss.”

The papers publish everything and Paul goes to jail for attempted manslaughter. Manchester United’s title winning squad – De Gea, Shaw, Smalling, Blind, Valencia, Jones, Fellaini, Lingard, Mhiktyrian, Zlatan, Rooney.

This time next year I’m going to be kicking myself as I won’t be putting money on this. Anyway, football is about playing and gambling is shit.

Mr Hummels