The Shape of Things to Come

'Two plus two equals HARRY FOR ENGLAND'

More bewildering news from the world of autobiographical serialisation as the greatest-manager-England-never-had-but-still-may-have-and-most-likely-still-will-end-up-with-at-some-point decided to follow such luminary commentators as Gary Lineker and, ahem us, in putting the boot into the FA for not being able to run the country properly, or something.

The Men Who Stare At Scapegoats

'And what have you ever won?' 

There's nothing like the red tops for shedding a bit of a perspective on a situation. We welcome back Dan Clark who is adamant that two games without a win doesn't make AVB a shit manager.

Two games is a long time in football isn’t it. I mean come on, it’s 180, maybe 187 minutes, including stoppages, of time just passing by. It’s a back-to-back Super Sunday session sat on the sofa. Back in the real world, it’s an unproductive morning in the office spent trawling the web and flicking back to actual work stuff when the shadow of the boss looms.

They'll Do What They Want

NOT SO FAST SUNSHINE

What better way to prepare for a return to the blogging arena by opening with a piece written by someone else? No better way, that's what. Particularly when said piece includes two of our favourite things: made-up quotes and a jibe at Adam Bushby's physical attractiveness. Here's the brilliant Dan Forman (go follow):

As I write, I don't know if Roberto Di Matteo is still Chelsea manager or will be at the start of next season. But I am pretty sure of one thing: If Arjen Robben had kept his composure and Chelsea had lost the Champions League final he wouldn't be.

English Jobs for English Workers

'What competition?'

Handing you over to a man who has obviously read the Magic Spongers blueprint - filing a piece months late - here is the ever-excellent Dan Forman on a still pertinent issue

In October last year (for it has taken me this long to get round to writing this piece) those of you without access to the Times website (or unwilling to pay a pound for the paper) may have had the misfortune to miss this fine, considered piece of sportswriting from Mike Atherton.

Caught Knapping

Redknapp: making like-for-like changes since 1983



Unless you were drunk, buried or temporarily without a head this weekend, you’ll know that the only scoreline anyone wants to talk about is Manchester 13-3 North London. More specifically, topics on lips principally include Manchester United’s youth-driven greatness, Manchester City’s money-driven potential greatness and Arsene Wenger’s selling-driven former greatness.

Roodimentary Language: A Star On The Wayne?

Apologies for the week-long hiatus on these fair pages. We’ve been busy searching out living rooms full of families and then going right up to the window and shouting “fuck off” into them. Which leads us nicely to Wayne Rooney of course.

This isn’t going to be a meditation on the rights and wrongs of using a bit of blue language. It would be hypocritical of us in the extreme to pass judgment on Rooney’s bad language having hurled far worse at the referee when Nemanja Vidic managed to avoid a red card for a professional foul for the 1,295th time of his career, and when our own editorial policy runs something along the lines of ‘Copious Unprofessional Nasty Terminology’ (CUNT).

Beeb Fucks Everything Up For Everyone Especially The Kids

Despite the cold snap outside and the hour and a half commute I felt cheery this morning. Chipper even. Nothing warms a Magic Sponger’s cockles like a surge of righteous indignation as misplaced as a Sergio Ramos tackle on Lionel Messi. And so it began when I got to my desk. Never mind going to the Guardian’s website, they’ll only reaffirm my own opinions and who wants that? No. I first went, with not a little glee, to see what Ian ‘Mr England’ Wright made of yesterday’s proceedings in Zurich. True to form, absolute fucking goldmine. I could already hear the chants of ‘its too easy’ ringing in my ears, but that’s the point. Ghost written or not, Wrighty’s comments are so wide of the mark as to make a Qatari striker look deadly.

'Arry's Mad

No, this isn’t an article about a ‘90s children’s programme about a gobshite parrot. If you wanted a reason, one massive reason, a reason so glaringly obvious it is about as subtle as a kick to the bollocks, that Harry Redknapp should NEVER EVER get the England job, please read his 'dissection' of England's latest game. And because the Sun didn’t attach a ‘Jingoistic Bullshit Warning’, we probably should.

WARNING: THIS is jingoistic bullshit.

Actually, it does explain a lot. Not about England v Montenegro, admittedly, but mindless drivel of such a stellar ilk goes a long way towards illustrating why Spurs have no Plan B besides juggling centre-backs and chucking on Roman Pavlyuchenko when the going gets ropey.

The Bigger Pitchure

This plastic pitch stuff is a right old bru-ha-ha, isn’t it? ‘It’s not an excuse’, harrumphed Harry Redknapp, before going on the claim that at least four of his elite, highly-paid, professional sportsmen ‘couldn’t handle’ playing on what was essentially a soft flat carpet. I’ve heard all about the ramifications of artificial pitches for the knees of Ledley King and Tom Huddlestone, but then I’ve also been hearing about how hard and unforgiving ‘these new grass pitches’ are for the last five years. Surely spraying gallons of water over any pitch before kick-off makes them reasonably dangerous too?