Holy Mother of God, Bobo’s Going to Fiorentina!

By: Martha | July 19th, 2007

Jesus or Bobo? Is there really a difference? You know, it’s rare these days for a transfer to happen truly out of nowhere. There are so many damn websites and newspapers spitting out rumors that almost everything has been discussed before it happens, and it’s almost impossible to be surprised by any names you hear. This one, though is a giant freaking surprise: Our beloved Christian Veiri is going to Fiorentina, ostensibly as support for their young strike force. Not only that, but it sounds like it’s pretty much done. [Excuse me for a second while I go try to calm down.]

Ok, I’m back. Not calm, but back. According to several different Italian websites, Sky Sports in Italy reported this deal last night, indicating that Bobo’s contract, much like the one he had with Atalanta last year, will pay him a very small based salary, this time with bonuses based on appearances rather than goals. Speculation is that Veiri will be used in Serie A as relief for Giampaolo Pazzini (who, everyone hopes, will be brilliantly productive as a regular starter) but will play more regularly for the club in UEFA Cup games; apparently the chance to play in Europe was one of the major things that drew Bobo to Florence. Assuming he passes his medical (which may or may not have already happened), he’ll be announced in the next couple of days, and will be at the club’s friendly this weekend.

Holy. Crap. Ok, rationally speaking, I can see it makes sense for the Viola to have a veteran striker on the bench so there’s less pressure on Pazzini, and the added depth with be important, particularly if the club go deep into the UEFA Cup. Also speaking rationally, I’m slightly worried about Bobo — assuming he’s still the insane partier he used to be, which may not be the case — being around Adrian Mutu, who’s finally grown up and stopped with the coke and porn stars. Really, the last thing Mutu needs is any sort of distraction, now that he’s learned how to do that whole adult thing, both on and off the pitch. I guess the club’s assumption is that the Romanian is a big enough boy to handle his own business, even if every breeze that blows from Bobo’s direction reeks of booze and supermodels.

(Irrationally speaking, of course, I’m running around the house screaming, with my shirt pulled up over my head. Sorry about that mental image.)