Rock & Dole Years: 2005/2006

(The series first started in Summer 2004 with the 1974/1975 season and has continued up to the present day, in both players inc and now in Toon Talk)

What were you doing on the night of May 25^th 2005? I’d guess a sizeable percentage of those reading this page were watching in rapt amazement as Liverpool came back from 3-0 down to win the Champions’ League final on penalties against AC Milan in Istanbul. Personally I’ve not seen a single second of highlights of the game as I was watching Teenage Fanclub, the greatest band in the history of the Universe, at the University. Having seen the Fannies 28 times now, that particular gig tends to blend in with many others, but the importance of the night to Newcastle United remains crystal clear.

Liverpool had finished 5^th in the Premiership, but because of their CL win, they were given special dispensation to appear in the 2005/2006 Champions League as the holders. This meant that Bolton would be accompanied in the UEFA Cup not by Liverpool, but by the Smogs, meaning there was an Inter Toto Cup place up for grabs. Freddy Shepherd was many things, but he never missed a trick and Newcastle’s application was straight in. Despite finishing 14^th and as close to going down as achieving a UEFA Cup spot in terms of points in 2004/2005, we were back in Europe. Presumably because none of the sides finishing 8^th to 13^th wanted to play a collection of Moldovan Welders or Byelorussian Psychotherapists in mid July.

Exempted to the third round, we were drawn against Slovak side Dubnica. As someone who spent 2 wonderful years living in the Slovak capital of Bratislava, I was honoured to be one of the 83 Newcastle fans, most of who drink in The Newton in High Heaton, who made the trip to see my team in my adoptive country. 35 degree heat, 35p pints and a sleepy 3-1 win, with Michael Chopra scoring his first ever Newcastle goal made for a fantastic weekend, far away from the reality of our club under Souness.

The dull 2-0 home win courtesy of a Shearer double, where Amdy Faye’s alarming incompetence finally shone through in emphatic terms, and back to back 2-1 losses against Deportivo La Coruna in the next round meant we could concentrate on another season of ponderous mediocrity, or so it seemed. Those players departing SJP had included Patrick Kluivert, to Valencia, Laurent Robert, to Portsmouth and Nicky Butt, to Birmingham (on loan) of the team that had disgraced the fans in the FA Cup semi final v Man United at Cardiff in April 2005. Also out the door were honest journeymen Darren Ambrose to Charlton and Aaron Hughes to Villa, both of whom could justifiably still be with us now, not to mention Andy O’Brien who seems to be linked with a return every third Thursday. Craig Bellamy also finally left, for Blackburn, victim of Souness’s principles, that had been so on display after Bowyer and Dyer had got stuck in to each other in the previous season. Jermaine Jenas would move to Spurs in August, where he still struggles to reach his potential.

In their place came Scott Parker from Chelsea, the unknown Emre from Inter Milan and the unacceptable Luque from Deportivo. Significantly down on bodies, we also brought home Lee Clark from Fulham and signed up the unattached Craig Moore. Frankly, we didn’t look world-beaters and I had little compunction in taking a family holiday in the football season for the first time in years.

Sunning myself in the Bordeaux region, I was glad to miss our start of 1 point from 4 games; Arsenal 0-2 in our last game at Highbury, a bland 0-0 home to the Hammers, a shocking 0-2 at Bolton and a routine 0-2 home to Man United, when Luque gave a 15 minute cameo of why we’d wasted £10m on him. However, I did get back in time for the worst piece of transfer business this club has ever conducted, in the shape of the incredible £18m capture of Michael Owen. Five years on this looks to be the worst deal in the history of the world never mind Newcastle; it probably was. Still, at least Nobby Solano came back the same time.

Owen made his debut in a 1-1 home draw with Fulham when N’Zogbia rescued a point, before Shearer and Owen tore Blackburn apart as we won 3-0 at Ewood Park. The next week Owen grabbed his first home goal as we beat Man City 1-0 at a still unconvinced SJP. A dull 0-0 at Portsmouth was followed by our first visit to our latest bogey ground, Wigan, where a clearly over the line Shearer header was ignored as we lost 1-0. Owen was injured that day, with a groin or ankle or something, and missed the game the week after. I’m glad I didn’t.

We’d laughed very much when sunderland gained 19 points in 2002/2003, but we guffawed loudly at the 15 points they were to amass in 2005/2006, though there was no sign they’d be as poor as that when we beat them 3-2 in late October. Normally Derby games are lousy to watch, but this was a superb spectacle; two storming Shola headers and a pair of fine finishes by a couple of their lot left it nicely poised with 20 minutes remaining. Cue a piece of Turkish delight as Emre curled in a fabulous 30-yard free kick at the Gallowgate to win it for us. Some goal and some game, but an example of the all too rare commodities of skill and flair in the Souness era.

Amazingly, Owen was back the next week and him, Shearer and forgotten man Kieron Dyer all played blinders as we won 3-0 at The Hawthorns. We were only 10^th, but seemingly improving. Birmingham lost 1-0 at SJP as November dawned with an Emre effort squirming away from Maik Taylor. We followed this up with three defeats, comprising a 3-0 pummelling at the Bridge by Chelsea and a1-0 loss at Goodison, sandwiching a limp League Cup exit 1-0 at Wigan, to show we weren’t really any good.

The knives were out for Souness and if Gareth Barry hadn’t blasted a last minute penalty in to the Leazes, needlessly given away by the hapless Bramble, he’d have gone in early December, but he hung on. This 1-1 draw was supplanted by a praiseworthy 1-0 win home to Arsenal; Nobby scored it, but Scotty Parker won us the game with a dynamic showing.

The week after, December 18^th 2005, saw the last ever edition of The Pink and what a story they had, with an Owen hat-trick winning us the game at West Ham in a 4-2 thriller. I nearly died. Actually, I did nearly die in a car crash the next day when an articulated lorry ploughed in to us as we drove north on the A1, but I survived and was able to see Liverpool and Spurs both beat us 2-0, with Owen breaking his foot at White Hart Lane on New Year’s Eve. It was a case of no footing rather than first footing.

In early January Lee Clark rescued a point with a 93^rd minute leveller home to the Smogs, before Shearer finally matched Jackie Milburn’s goalscoring record in a 1-0 win over Mansfield in the FA Cup. It wasn’t Souness’s last win; that was a spawny 2-0 at Cheltenham in the next round of the cup. However, he left at the end of January following 3 league losses in a row; 0-1 at Craven Cottage, 0-1 home to Blackburn and 0-3 against Man City. While all three games stunk to high heaven, the last non-performance was as rotten an epitaph for his muddleheaded rule as he deserved; a man out of time and out of touch, he was as bad a boss, in my opinion, as Allardyce, Kinnear and McGarry combined.

Who was to take over? Well, humble, honest Glenn Roeder was running our Academy and he diffidently assumed the spotlight. The likeable Cockney took us from 15^th to 7^th at season’s end, by the simple expedient of playing 4-4-2 with Nobby and N’Zogbia out wide; it wasn’t rocket science, but it worked.

In his first game Shearer broke Milburn’s record as we swept Pompey aside 2-0 in a happy, vibrant, rocking SJP. We went to Villa and won 2-1, with Given saving a penalty, drew 0-0 with Charlton when we’d bossed the game, before stuffing Everton 2-0 with a Nobby pearler and Bolton 3-1 without breaking sweat.

Of course there were setbacks; 4 successive losses, 0-2 at Old Trafford, 1-3 home to Liverpool, when Boumsong was sent off on his last appearance, 0-1 at Stamford Bridge in the Cup and 1-3 at Charlton, where Scott Parker scored his first goal from about 40 yards. However, there was also April, when we won 5 in a row.

Firstly, Spurs were comprehensively outplayed 3-1 with Jenas getting dog’s abuse and Dawson a red card, before an easy 2-1 stroll at smogland where they scored in the dying seconds and then a 3-1 element of revenge over Wigan on Easter Saturday.

Of course, you’ll remember Easter Monday; 4-1, “We’ll Meet Again,” “We Only Played For 7 Minutes,” the corner flag collector in tears and even Luque scoring. The original demolition derby saw Alan Shearer get his last ever goal, a penalty fittingly enough, in his last ever game as we lorded it over the unwashed in the best way possible. Happy days.

Subsequent games included a 3-0 win over also relegated West Brom, 0-0 at St Andrew’s and a 1-0 win over Chelsea, but they were pretty much after the Lord Mayor’s Show after the Mackem massacre. However, the Chelsea result guaranteed we finished 7^th and qualified for the Inter Toto Cup, which we were to win, in 2006/2007.

Sadly this season marked the end of Alan Shearer’s playing career, with no clear indication of who was to replace him (Owen played a sub’s role at Birmingham after breaking his foot and nothing else). His testimonial against Celtic was an emotion charged affair that I was proud to have attended.

Sadly also, in retrospect, Shepherd took the easy option and made Glen Roeder, against his better instincts, permanent manager. Looking back on the latter half of this season, it is clear than in our post Sir Bobby Premier League days, it was only a window of adequacy in a booked-up diary full of dross. Come back next issue for 2006/2007; we win the Inter Toto Cup but the Premier League is a huge pile of fetid mediocrity.

Slovensko DO TOHO!!

(Originally published in Percy Main v Rutherford programme 28th March 2009 & repopularised at http://britskibelasi.footballunited.com/ in October 2010)

This week we have the opportunity to exorcise painful memories of last season’s 5-0 home stuffing by Rutherford, while supporters of Newcastle United can take stock and have a breather, as their team’s seemingly inevitable breakneck hurtle in to the Championship goes in to abeyance for a week. The reason for this is that it is the wonderful spectacle of meaningless fixtures, mass substitutions and sterile non-football that tells us it has to be international week.

I must admit international football isn’t really my thing. If the Rutherford game was a week later, I’d be penning my usual drivel about the start of the Irish football season (Galway United and Bohemians battling it out for top spot) or the new film based on Brian Clough’s ill-starred 44 day reign at Elland Road, The Damned United, based on David Peace’s magnificent novel of the same name, which every football lover should read as a matter of urgency. However, for the sake of journalistic integrity, I’ll give these examples of nationalistic nonsense my full attention.

Unsurprisingly, Ireland are my footballing nation (and a big well done to the rugby lads for the Grand Slam last week, which took my mind off Steven Taylor’s latest arrogant sporting suicide mission), so the 17.45 kick off at Croke Park versus Bulgaria will occupy my mind later on today. I’ve only ever seen Ireland once, and that was at U21 level at St. James’ Park in 1994. They lost 2-0 but I enjoyed myself as mackem Martin Smith’s every touch was booed mercilessly, rather like Nick Pickering’s versus Russia at the same venue and same level had been in 1983. Indeed the majority of my other international footballing experience has either been at that ground or that level; Bulgaria 1 Romania 0 at Euro 96 and England U21 4 Holland U21 0 at the Madjeski Stadium in August 2000, accompanying the Chinese U17 team, to whom I was acting as English tutor (it’s a long story…), for example.

Despite the fact that I’d probably cheer the Taleban XI on if they were playing England, their home friendly with Slovakia at Wembley today did grab my attention. I thought about going, but frankly how could I miss out on Purvis Park after last week’s marvellous showing against Killingworth? The reason for toying with travelling is I spent 2 years, between 1999 and 2001 in the capital of Slovakia, Bratislava and loved the place, especially its football. Remember Newcastle 1 sunderland 2 in a thunderstorm with Shearer and Ferguson on the bench? Or Sir Bobby in the hot seat as Newcastle trounced Sheff Wed 8-0? Guess which was the last game I saw and first I missed when heading to Bratislava in September 1999?

Slovakia is the less glamorous bit of the old Czechoslovakia, utterly opposed to the tolerance and (literal) Bohemian atmosphere of Prague. Football wise, there has been no Pavel Srnicek, Pavel Nedved, Peter Cech or Karel Poborsky to boast of; recently their most famous players have been Szilard Nemeth at the smogs, Stano Varga at the mackems, Lubo Moravcik at Celtic and Martin Skrtel at Liverpool. Club wise, Slovan Bratislava are the most famous team. Winners of the Cup Winners’ Cup in 1969, Slovakia’s only European honour, they were eclipsed for about 8 years by their very local rivals Inter Bratislava (we’re talking Dundee and Dundee United levels of proximity here). I lived in a flat that looked in to Slovan from the living room and kitchen and Inter from the bedroom and balcony, but supported neither.

Slovan’s ground is the national stadium and is full of Nazi boneheads in Rangers or Millwall shirts and swastika armbands, while Inter played in front of about 1,000 in a soulless athletics stadium without cover. My side were (Artmedia) Petrzalka, who played in the scenic Stary Most ground and wore black and white striped shirts. You may remember them trouncing Celtic 5-0 in the Champions League qualifiers in 2005, but when I saw them they finished just above relegation both years. Crowds were only 6,000, but they played in a proper old style ground and the fans were close to the pitch. Just after I left, they embarked on their glory years; winning the Cup in 2003, League in 2004 & 2005 and Cup again in 2006. Sadly, with Inter going boom and subsequently getting relegated, Petrzalka made a sound business but terribly unromantic decision and sold their lovely old ground for hotel and office development and are now playing at the soulless Pasienka athletics stadium. What a shame! I still look out for their results and would love to go back again some time.

While following Petrzalka, I had the chance to travel around and see a few small towns that boasted teams in the Slovak top flight; Senec, Trnava, Sala and Trencin for starters. While I enjoyed these days out, especially as tickets, travel and beer were all dirt cheap, my two favourite trips had more than a passing hint of the outfit from Barrack Road about them.

In Slovakia one of my best mates was another Newcastle fan, Brendan from Durham, and one drunken Thursday night we concocted a plan to travel across the border to Ostrava, home of Pavel Srnicek, to see his home town team and first club, take on their local rivals Sigma Olomouc. Arriving hopelessly early on the Saturday following, having misread the train timetables; we found the nearest pub to the ground, the originally titled Futbalpub, to while away the hours to kick-off.

Walking in, with a sense of travellers’ trepidation, we found the place looking like the old supporters’ shop opposite The Farmers’ Rest; black and white from floor to ceiling, with framed Pavel shirts behind the bar and a huge mural of the 1993 Promotion winning side with him in a “Pavel is a Geordie” tee shirt, covering one wall. As soon as our loyalties were discovered the locals embraced us like long-lost cousins and we drank for free for 12 hours solid, in the pub and in the ground, which included a memorable 2-0 home win, when the Ostrava Ultras sang “The Blaydon Races” for the last 10 minutes, with perhaps more enthusiasm than accuracy.

Even better was seeing Newcastle play mid ranking Slovak side Dubnica in the Inter Toto Cup in 2005. Only 84 Geordies made the trip, but it was one game I would not have missed for the world; we won 3-1, Michael Chopra scored his opening 2 goals for The Mags and I had a chance to show a load of drunken Geordies one of the best countries and cities in the world. One day I’ll recount how Douglas Hall asked me if I liked sex and travel in an Irish pub in downtown Bratislava at 4 in the morning, but not right now!

I went over there to teach English to University students and business bigwigs, but my favourite student was Stano Griga, who managed the Slovak U21 side at the time, then went on to boss Slavia Prague. He was a former player with Nitra, Sparta Prague, Feyenoord (where he played against Spurs in the 1992 Cup Winners’ Cup) and Austria Vienna, where he wound down his career. He was also a Czechoslovak international who played at the 1990 World Cup and used to sort a few of us out with tickets for Slovakia internationals; 0-0 v Sweden and 3-1 v Azerbaijan, when Nemeth scored after 19 seconds, stand out in the memory.

One tournament that stands out is the 2000 European Under 21s; I remember mouthy, drunken Chelsea fans watching England beat Turkey 6-0, then lose 1-0 to Italy and 2-0 to Slovakia, who won their group and lost to Holland in the final. At least there were only 100 Three Lions scumbags in town then; when England played in Bratislava in October 2002, Michael Owen scored a double and there were clashes between the local police and England fans. When I saw Slovakia lose 2-1 to England Under 21 at Stadium of Shite in 2003, only 35 Slovaks were there. They are a good people and I hope the ones at Wembley today enjoy their day out.

*”Come on Slovakia,” in Slovak

Ijen Kjusak (as Ian Cusack sounds like Eye-ann Tsoosats to a Slovak)

Flying the NUST

(Published in Percy Main v Heddon programme, 9th October 2010)

You’ll remember that in my article for the Carlisle City programme, I expressed my unease about the direction and pace of travel exhibited by NUST. In short, following the discredited false start of NU$C and the shameful, undemocratic leaflet put about at the Blackburn game in September 2008 calling not for democratic fan ownership but for a mythical, benevolent Geordie billionaire to spend his cash exactly as he was told, NUST had really got their act together by putting clear red water between them and their egotistical antecedents. The “Yes We Can” campaign had harnessed the enthusiasm of all sectors of our support and was driving the organisation forward. The election of a full committee seemed to be the final piece in the jigsaw.

However, following publication of the results at the end of March 2010, precisely nothing of any relevance or moment happened. Actually positions and roles were divvied up in secret, an MP was co-opted and the NUST Media Committee, chaired by the obsequious, toadying non-entity Tony Stephenson, a man who would voluntarily clean the chair of the NUST chair with his tongue and regard it as an honour, decided that, despite the free publicity and good wishes Steve Wraith had given NUST on his radio show, they would have nothing to do with “Toon Talk” because of the imagery associated with it (my italics).

In issue the Carlisle city programme, I pointed out that this was all well and good if such a policy was applied consistently. Then, lo and behold, issue # 250 of “The Mag,” a publication I have bought from its first issue in August 1988 and that I hold in the greatest esteem, had a full-page article about NUST. All well and good you might say; it’s great that NUST are taking the trouble to communicate with members and other interested parties in one of the 2 Newcastle fanzines. Fair enough, but what does it say about NUST and their policy of not dealing with “Toon Talk” on grounds of taste, decency and sexual politics when “The Mag” has an advert on its inside back cover for “Newcastle’s Finest Topless Totty Show?”

Of course NUST would not necessarily be aware of the adverts in “The Mag,” but as the Chair of NUST is also the editor of that publication, there is a chance the two organisations may have communicated. I am not suggesting for one minute that there is any kind of nest feathering going on, and if NUST want to formalise the relationship with “The Mag” by making it their official theoretical journal, all well and good, but I think the waters have been muddied and such a turn of events is being seen by many members as further evidence of an otiose streak at the core of NUST.

Since my last article, I received an email encouraging me to renew my membership that included as an attachment the newsletter NUST produced in September. The first official communication I had had with NUST since the election results repeated the bland, anodyne imprecision of the August press release about the future of the trust. It was high on cliché and simpering rhetoric, but low to non-existent on tactics and analysis. There was a mention of the rebranding of SJP which the Trust noted with “sadness,” in a typically downbeat, understated manner that is more Women’s Institute than Bolshevik Revolution in tone.

However, the proposed erection of the giant SportsDirect.com@StJames’Park signs gave NUST their Custer’s Last Stand opportunity. Surely there would be a chance for all membership to exchange opinions on this issue? It was the first major thing to happen since the alleged Glasnost and Perestroika era that has been ushered in by the “Moving The Trust Forward” statement. Admittedly, talking to the Newcastle City Council Planning Committee and handing in a petition is not the same as storming the Winter Palace, as grounds for compliant were restricted as objections on the grounds of taste and morality were beyond the remit of the hearing.

As you’ll know the objection failed and the signs are going up. Sure they’ll look terrible and sure the club will get no income from them, but if they did get income, I’d be all for it in the current economic climate. We have to be realists. NUST’s mealy-mouthed suggestion that it’s ok for new grounds to have sponsorship, like at Arsenal or Bolton, but not as old grounds is an illogical non position that attempts to blend aesthetics with tradition and looks simply laughable in the cold light of day; a bit like NUST it has to be said.

Frankly, I’ve had enough; there is no chance whatsoever of me paying up, despite a rallying call that appeared to be the Eve of Agincourt delivered by John Major on ketamine -:

“Your support is absolutely vital to the NUST and underpins all we try to do and is greatly appreciated. We’re proud of what we have been able to achieve in our first year and we could not have done it without you. Only by increasing membership and influence can the Trust hope to move forward, with your help we can all look forward to a bright future.”

Being brutally honest, I don’t see any possible hope that NUST in its current form with its current malaise can become a campaigning force for Newcastle United and the supporters in particular. Regardless of league form, and it has to be said relegation is possible if losses against Blackpool and Stoke are to be the norm, we must never lose sight of the greater good of the club. That’s why I’m not going to be wasting any more energy wondering just why NUST has failed; never mind the question of whether I’m better outside the tent pissing in or inside the tent pissing out, I’ve decided to simply piss off because I’m pissed off.

The Charlatans

(Published in Percy Main v Harraby CC programme on 2nd October 2010)

The Dell was never a happy hunting ground for Newcastle United. The Magpies final, ever success at Southampton’s old ground was back in February 1972, a mere fortnight after their last away victory over Manchester United, in the same month that Ronnie Radford scored a tap-in against the Toon as well, curiously enough. In 8 Premiership visits to the Saints’ former home, Newcastle picked up a solitary point, in Kenny Dalglish’s first game in charge, back in January 1997. Even then, they were 2-0 up with 6 minutes remaining before Matthew Le Tissier got involved. While that was bad, it didn’t rank as low as the 2-1 defeat on Sky TV when Keegan had a hissy fit with Lee Clark in October 1993 or the 3-1 loss in March 1995 that saw Paul Kitson’s goal separating the sides as injury time began. All things considered, the routine 2-1 loss on 28th March 1998 didn’t raise too many eyebrows.

That day I was in the Midlands, paying my first and so far only visit to Meadow Lane, to see Notts County clinch the Division 3 Championship with a 1-0 victory over Leyton Orient. It’s a decent ground, albeit generally far too large for the needs of England’s oldest league club and the impromptu pitch invasion at full time was jovial and good-natured. I’m glad I stopped by, though I didn’t hang around for the boss’s speech after the trophy was presented, mainly because I remember him turning out for the Mackems under Ken Knighton’s tedious tenure.

Who was the visionary manager who had achieved the remarkable feat of obtaining promotion before the clocks had gone forward that I chose to cock a deaf one to? Well, he was recently in the news for issuing the following bold statement as regards his modest analysis of his own managerial abilities -:

“Personally I feel I would be more suited to Inter Milan or Real Madrid. It wouldn't be a problem for me to manage those clubs because I would win the double or the league every time. Give me Manchester United or Chelsea and I would do the same. It's not a problem to take me into the higher reaches of the Champions League or Premier League.”

This is the manager who, on the day he made such pronouncements, made the groundbreaking tactical decision that his main striker (a loathsome individual with serial convictions for spitting on fans and opponents, the racist abuse of a ball boy and a season with the Mackems on his CV) should ignore the ball whenever it was pumped predictably high, hard and hopeful in to the opposition box, preferring instead to barge the visiting keeper to the ground. The player, who was instructed to act like a gridiron linebacker at a third down scrimmage, is the nauseating El Hadji Diouf and the manager, none other than the uniquely despised bastard lovechild of Matthew Kelly and Malcolm MacDonald, Mr Samuel Allardyce.

Yes, that’s right, the quotation that comprises the vain and smug analysis of his own minimal talent by the monstrous ego of a monstrous narcissist, suggests that he regards himself to be the equal of Jose Mourinho. You are not dreaming; Allardyce actually said these things, though it has yet to be confirmed whether he was tripping at the time.

Let us not forget, Allardyce is the man who, when given a large amount of cash to spend at Newcastle United, brought in the delights of Abdoulaye Faye, Cacapa, Geremi and David Rozehnal for the grand total expenditure of £15 million for the precise net gain of jack shit. Indeed it is a moot point whether Allardyce's most notable achievement for Newcastle United SJP was a laughable, mincing run across the turf at Craven Cottage while both sides waited to kick off the second half or his solitary substitute appearance for West Bromwich Albion in November 1989, when the Magpies won 5-1 at The Hawthorns.

To be scrupulously fair, I must acknowledge that Allardyce isn’t only famous, in his terms, for failing to win a single trophy with Blackpool, Bolton (bar a play off final in 2001), Newcastle and Blackburn, which is how we normal football fans will judge him. He is equally notorious for a “Panorama” investigation in to corruption in football that saw his son banned by the FA from working in the professional game. Also, Big Sam (his words) does wear a natty earpiece that makes him look like Morrissey would if he’d been fed on steak and kidney pudding four times a day since he was potty trained.

This earpiece is linked to Allardyce’s 25 strong backroom op centre, which consists of innumerable snake oil salesman and other barely credible boffins, allegedly conducting several kinds of spurious tests and crunching numbers in to dozens of hi-tech gizmos and gallimaufries, for a yet to be discerned purpose.

Supporters of Allardyce, who presumably compromise these lads in the lab coats, him and his family, regularly tout the hippo-headed fool as the next England manager and to be fair, he probably wouldn’t have done a lot worse than Sven, Second Choice Steve or Bo Selecta. Remember, Sam has a European pedigree, having led Limerick City to the First Division title in the League of Ireland back in 1991.

At the same time as Allardyce continues to acclaim his own talents, Irish society is reeling as yet another example of incompetence by Allardyce lookalike Taoiseach Brian Cowen (aka Biffo, the Big Ignorant Fella From Offaly) sees the man charged as being single-handedly responsible for the loss of 150,000 jobs in the last 6 months alone, bladdered out of his head in a Galway nightclub at 3am on a Tuesday morning. Frankly, such behaviour is not unusual in Irish public life; the secret though is being able to get away with it. Ensconced in the City of the Tribes for a Fianna Fail policy summit, Cowen comprehensively let his hair down, shouting and roaring until closing time and, by all accounts, giving a grand version of the Christy Moore classic “The Lakes of Ponchartrain.” Unfortunately, Cowen’s voice betrayed the lateness of his hours on an interview regarding the state of the economy on “Morning Ireland” at 7.30 the following morning. Cowen stopped short of an apology, though he did display a degree of clarity the man who sees his imminent elevation from Ewood Park to Old Trafford as a given would never dream of stating, when he commented on the media storm by stating, "it wasn't my best performance.”

However, we are being unkind; Sam has got one thing in common with Sir Alex. Not the 2 Champions League wins, the 8 Premier League titles, 6 FA Cups, 4 League Cups, European Cup Winners’ Cup or any of the trinkets picked up by the Govan Genius when in charge at Aberdeen. No, the sole thing they have in common is a refusal to talk to the BCC. Sir Alex does it out of principle; Hippo Head is presumably taking the Fifth Amendment in relation to the “Panorama” programme.

Still, silent or voluble, those of us who know the beautiful game agree; Allardyce’s long ball robots and shoulder charging psychos are a stain on our national game. In the same way that the Irish public have seen through Biffo’s boozy bluster, we won’t be fooled by Fat Sam’s execrable egotism and ridiculous rhetoric.