Listen again – “whirrrrrrrrrr” – it’s the sound of Dave Richards furiously backpeddaling to save his skin. Having let the cat out of the bag, he now denies implying that O’Neill is the next England manager. Dude, too late, the only ones who will be happy with this sort of statement are the bookies who have taken a stack of bets on the next appointee to the Soho Square hotseat.
The managerial merry – go – round is locked in full pace now. O’Neill to England. Or Newcastle. Or is it going to be one of the other two from the supposed shortlist of three, Curbishley or Pearce – sorry Big Sam, looks like the Curse of Yogi is more powerful than I thought.
As we approach the Witching Hour, it’s becoming apparent that there is some pretty bad mojo going on in the world at the moment. Suddenly Gerry Francis is supposed to be a contender for the England job. Where did this one come from? Otmar Hitzfeld is going to Newcastle – he’s even got his reservations already. Ah sorry that’s about the job not for flights. Hiddink is off to Russia. And best one of the lot, John Gregory is off to Hungary. Obviously a good lunchtime down the pub? No? Can you imagine the “motivational techniques” he’ll employ? When someone tries (and fails) to emulate the Galloping Major, Gregory’s chastisement of “You useless ****! Who do you think you are? Puskas?” will probably be met with a swift “Igen” from the old guy on the touchline.
But let’s not stop the lunacy now. Surely there are some better bets for the current vacancy list. Maybe even the dream team of Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley and Doris Stokes. The team selection notice could mysteriously appear on the board whilst any tactical comminques could come through a series of raps on the bench (Snoop Doggy Dog and Cypress Hill – NWA having refused the gig); “What’s that boss, I didn’t quite catch it?”Knock, Knock, Knock; “OK So Beckham on the right and Stevie G in the centre!”
Todays tunes: a couple of tracks from a Peel Session in 1979 by The Specials