The Mixer
It’s a managerial merry-go-round...do you get it? Photo credit: practicalowl
You’ve been sacked? Brian Laws does a great lasagne.
The footballing world has reached its silly season. Big name signings are being “spotted” at train stations up and down the country, anonymous youngsters are being touted as wonderkids and, due to incessant phone calls, the wife of Robbie Keane’s agent hasn’t been able to sleep for weeks.
Not only is the transfer window open, it seems we seem to be in the middle of an undesignated sacking window. Mike Ashley, ever the trendsetter, started it all off with the sacking of the seemingly too nice Chris Hughton. Since then 13 other managers in the football league have been forced to sit at home all day, settling down in front of Jeremy Kyle and/or adding to the number of people visiting the internet’s most popular sites.
Perhaps they all get together. It makes a nice image. Hughton would probably offer to host, they would turn him down though on the basis that Laws does a brilliant lasagne. So they’d all go round to his, it wouldn’t take long, they all live in Cheshire these days, regardless of where they work. Big Sam Allardyce would probably be cracking jokes, he told a great one with him and Real Madrid recently.
They could share stories of their sackings and how badly treated they had been at their clubs; Kevin Dillon (recently sacked by Aldershot) would probably be ignored on the basis that nobody really cares. Imagine the faces of this group of out-of-work managers when they learned that the-very-possibly-mental Roy Keane had been given the boot. As interesting as Keano is, you don’t want him at your house, he’d probably snap your suave IKEA light in half on the basis that it was being lazy.
TM likes the idea that they’d all get a nice send-off when they left the ranks of the unemployed in order to take up another managerial post. Imagine the party that will be thrown if Gareth Southgate ever gets himself another job.
So if you do find yourself recently sacked from a Football League club, give Bryan Robson a ring, he tends to organise these events. Console yourself with the knowledge there will be another job soon and if you get chatting to Gary Megson try your hardest to appear interested in his inane ramblings. He’s only trying his best. You might even get a job soon.
Fabregas unaware there are no points for style
One half of TM is an ardent Ipswich fan. If that upsets any readers who believed there was an omniscient, omnipotent and benevolent being who took time out to contribute to a student rag – then apologies. Why stop now, I hear you say? The other half supports Charlton/Leeds/Stevenage. Some may call him a gloryhunter but with those clubs he is really anything but.
Photo credit: Ronnie MacDonald
Anyway, TM digresses. Watching my team deliver a tactical masterclass to Arsenal last Wednesday was up there with the best experiences of my life. I fall short of calling it ‘the best’ because I once received a prize for spelling from my local MP Julie Kirkbride; now that, my friends, was something special.
When you’ve beaten one of the best teams in the world you feel good, so to hear Mr Cesc ‘I don’t even start for Spain’ Fabregas liken our style to that of “rugby” was pretty upsetting. This was the man who had been outplayed by Colin Healy, a man who comes as near as any footballer ever has to being discovered as part of Channel Four’s ‘Faking It’ series. To quote numerous pundits, “at the end of the day, football is all about winning”. I feel like Jamie Redknapp having imparted those pearls of wisdom.
It might seem ludicrously simple but it’s a fact that has appeared to have evaded Cesc. It doesn’t matter how many times you nutmeg an opponent or run half the length of the pitch juggling the ball on your head, the winner is the team who scores the most goals.
He also had a pop at the carpet that is Portman Road – Head Groundsman Alan Ferguson (winner of Groundsman of the Year no less than five times) would not have been impressed. So, Cesc, stop mouthing off and deliver the goods. You should have hammered little Ipswich but you didn’t – and for that you have only yourself to blame. The only problem is, like poking a bear, Ipswich have now riled the little Spaniard. He might very well humiliate us. I’m just nipping off to London to park a coach in front of Marton Fulop’s goal…
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