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Finton’s Frolic: International Special #1 - Phil Foden’s Barber Must be Stopped

By Daniel Finton (Deputy Editor)

What up, Pimps?

Welcome one and welcome all to the Finton’s Frolic right opinion zone. Today, we will be discussing the atrocity that is Phil Foden’s new hairdo.

The season’s over for Arsenal, so let’s talk about the most notable thing that’s happened at the Euros so far (besides Christian Eriksen’s health troubles, sincere condolences to him).

No other journalists have talked about it, though — the pearly elephant in the room. The mass media love abusing Paul Pogba when he has his weird and wacky hairstyles, but when it comes to Foden, nothing’s been said. But you know how we do in the right opinion zone, Pimps. Call them as they’re seen. And what I’m seeing draped over Foden’s ever-talented noggin is an utter catastrophe.

Blonde waves are bold, I’ll give him that. But as the self-proclaimed most flamboyant football journalist in the game, there’s a time when bravery is taken a step too far. It can be good to trudge close to the edge of societal norms regarding fashion, however it’s never wise to backflip off of a cliff.


But was said acrobatic leap a choice of the Manchester City youngster? Perhaps not, maybe he was forced off the metaphoric ledge.


Foden’s freakishly fugly follicle formation honestly make it seem as though he had no choice in the matter. The hairstyle that looks like one of those zen garden things could have been forced upon him by his barber.

I’m not sure because our dear friend Fabrizio Romano refused to comment on the matter. Coward. But if I were to boldly predict how the hair hold up went, I would imagine it going something like this.


“Phil, look. You’re boring. You don’t stand out enough. Everything about you, apart from your style of play, is about as dry and personality-less as a saltine cracker,” said Foden’s barber rather rudely.


“This is who I am, bruv. I’m me. I’m Phillip, wot you see is wot you get fam,” said the man who used to look normal in an unbearable Manchester accent.


“That’s the problem,” said the barber, pulling out his sharpest pair of scissors along with a hefty jug of bleach. “We’re going to make you stick out like a sore thumb, Philly Cheesesteak.”


“No, bruv, please,” begged Foden.


The barber mercilessly dumped the bleach on his head and hacked away. Foden cried out for help but the waves on his head were too loud and the bustling, slim shady sea across his scalp muffled his miserable pleas.

It was done and remains such a way. His hair is now as white as a crowd at a Coldplay concert. And seeing as it is just so white, and so full of bleach, the future may not be as bright as it once was for the highly thought of ankle biter. Prior to the horrendous do, it was as bright as the choppy, chopped away ocean now upon his cranium. However, starting now Foden will fall off. It's over.


You heard it hear first, folks. Foden’s upward trajectory will come to an end. Is it because of the trauma his barber caused him, the attention garnered from the forced follicle finagling, or a mixture of the two? Who knows? One thing is for certain though. This Frolic, like Foden’s career, is over.

Toodloo...!



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