News just in that Spurs Supremo and HMRC doyen Arry Redschnapps was 'questioned by police officers for four hours yesterday and bailed until the 21st of this month.'

This is from the source on Spurs Odyssey that first alerted the footballing firmament of the rejuvinated interest the filth had in our illustrious leader.

My dealings with the cops have been somewhat limited, kidnapping a member of the Royal Family, attempting to get a crossy on the Mayor of London's bicycle; that sort of gig and so I'm not exactly sure what is to be read into him being bailed. 

Presumably, it suggests that they aren't done with him yet.

Loving this.

In response to the Chelsea scum video I premiered on here yesterday morning, I spammed the bonobo out of the old To Whom It May Concern line to the FA, THFC, CFC; hell I probably even emailed KFC.

A very nice man called Simon Felstein at Spurs was the only person to reply. He assured me that THFC were investigating. And he wasn't lying.

Spurs complained to Chelsea who in turn have agreed to ban and pursue criminal prosecution against any of the anti-semitic oafs featured singing in it.The footage HERE has been submitted to the cops.

What some conveniently choose to forget is that for years ordinary decent fans have had to run the gauntlet of subhuman muck like this on a weekly basis. No, they don't generally behave like this outside or inside the stadium, but they bloody well do in the side streets, on the platforms and in the train carriages.

The sooner these fat chav retards are banned, banged up or better still, stuck in a blender and then poured down the nearest drain, the better. Sieg Heil my arse.

BIOYC!

As per the report HERE it looks increasingly likely that the signature of the man they call Sandro is merely a four month away formality.

The latest indications, specifically from the the man they call Roger Morgan is thatthe deal is very much in place. 

That last bit being particularly infuriating news for those bitter little nurks who like to whine 'but what about his work permit?/I won't believe it unless it's on the Official Site' etc etc..

For those of you dying to know more about the lad, here's one of the worst Wiki pages ever HERE.

To whet your appetite, here's some You Tube Footage. To break with traddition of showing you an implausibly hot showreel, here's our boy to be then, shot  reassuring relatives he was being treated well and passing on demands from his kidnappers.

 
The clip above contains blatant references to anti semitism and some men with rather large tummies dancing. It was emailed into me this morning and I've mailed it on to both THFC and CFC for their consideration with a note attached stressing that given that this is a You Tube clip they may wish to get their corporate fingers out and view it sooner rather than later.
 
It's galling that in this overly politically correct age where you can barely make a casual spray tan joke to your Strictly Celebrity X Factor Island On Ice partner or wave a flag with the word YID on, or indeed be wrongfully arrested and have your photo of you published in a national newspaper that morons like this are still evidently very active. 

'Confound the man!' came the exasperated cry from beneath that morning's paper. The sporting pages in hand, Dr Watson frowning intensely, proceeded to impart a stultifying story of a man causing considerable upset in the professional sporting world. In particular that of 'Association Football'

At that precise moment Mrs Doyle appeared in the doorway of Baker Street's drawing room. A few steps behind her a man deflated and apologetic in appearance.

'Mr Keith Hackett is here Mr Holmes.'What on earth?' yelped the good doctor.

'Calm yourself Watson, I do watch Sky Sports News and am perfectly capable of sending a telegram unaided', replied Holmes tautly and turning to the door continued, 'Thank you Mrs Doyle, tea for two and my usual syringe of cocaine in solution, if might without additional delay.

'Mr Hackett, may I ask you come and sit here - by the fire - whereupon you shall tell me everything and spare no detail.'

Holmes closed his eyes.

♣♥♦♥♦♣ 

Back from the world of dreams ...what we have here with the literally knighted Ferguson is a man running pretty much unchecked.

Of course it started of with him building up a fair amount of resentment as he initially plied his trade south of the border. His success at United wasn't instantaneous. There were more than a few wanting him out. And it took several years for Ferguson to deliver what was expected at Old Trafford.

So we have a proven Scottish manager suddenly having to prove himself (although quite rightly) all over again. But this time the world is watching and the world appears to be largely English.

What develops immeadiately outside the success on the pitch is like a shroud of self protection. Or what the press dubbed 'a siege mentality'. The phrase Anyone But United came into common use. The big silver pots, cups and plates began to stack up. And before too many realised what was going on a dynasty of achievement ™ was being built.

The empire has expanded. Even the People's Republic riddled with replica shirted crazy Orientals shouting 'Wayne Looney!' at television screens of varying size.

The pressure every season, every day even; has to be immense. And nturally it's tricky to apply ethics to football. You have Christian Ronaldo for example, a staggeringly talented player in the world  - let alone your squad. But he's a supercilious toad. An unscrupulous, vain, cheating toad. And in his wake come his apprentice cheats, Nani and Anderson.

If Ferguson were a real man he'd be more like Brian Clough. If he were as strong as Clough, he'd break the culture of cheating. He'd cast out these cheating benders rogues and win using just the wealth of talent he has at his disposal. Instead he has not only joined them, but become their leader.

His stand for unsporting behaviour hasn't eclipsed his achievements as a manager, but that's only because he embarked on this course relatively late on. He'll retire relatively soon and the mists of time will excuse his bouts of awfulness as 'passion' and as 'fervour'.  You know, in the very same way that Rooney's repeatedly thuggish, Tourettish outbursts are masqueraded as much the same.

So what's the answer? 

Pull rank on the old soak. He may have a little bit of shiny tin off the Queen, but Keith Hackett has a mandate from the sport's governing body. If a manager wants to discuss time added on then he can do so directly to those who run the game like a civilised human being. Or be disciplined accordingly. If he wishes to make preposterous allegations about the physical fitness of referees then he ought do the same, or face the same.

We've got bored of you old girl. The jig is up. Nobody likes losing but the manner in which you win no longer just leaves a bad taste in the mouth but it now serves to anger us and shame you in equal measure. The stats simply don't lie.

The amount of added time, free kicks and penalties awarded to you is never was a laughing matter, but enough's enough.

This manipulative malt slurper wants bringing to heel. Either the FA is in charge or the customer's are pulling their own pints. Which is it to be?

Based upon the MOTD that I saw, I am, to quote Fagin, finding it hard to find Tottenham quite as black as they paint; which translated into English for heathens means I see some pretty unforgiving player ratings scattered about on the shores of the Internet this morning.

3MP was apparently wearing corrective shoes and Cudicini is shortly to be deported by the Popular Goalkeepers Front of Gidea Park. A&E has lost his GHD tong privileges. Sgt Wilson demoted to Private Pike. What a load of old rubbish.
 
Don't get me wrong, I felt a 0-2 with Crouchy getting both was perfectly doable, I wasn't all that boxed in mentally over our record at t'Reebok. It was always going to be about - had we changed our attitude and if we were going to go there and match Bolton's ever-present resolve.
 
Mark Lawrenson may well see the BBC Couch as a springboard to a whole new career in Strictly Come Off It, but before he shimmies away to Sequin City, he at least got something right when he said that last season, we'd have collapsed up there.

Spurs played well enough against what can only be kindly called a fiendish Boltonista barrage of blood, guts and well, Boltoness.

Two points dropped? Probably, but our league position and general demeanor suggests to me that we are actually tipping away quite nicely, truth be told. 

That said, a dawn raid by the Old Bill at Maison Redschnapps would see natural order restored and the doom mongerers back out in gleeful force.

BIOYC!

Word just in from what Arry 'imself would call top top sources inc. Donna Cullen courtesy of Spurs Odyessy's Greg (son of very highly respected Paul) that Tottingham Hotspurs supremo Arry Da Boy Redschnapps will absolutely not be fired out of a cannon by Levy Bros Circus this afternoon. 

Rumours, lies and allegations gathered apace this morning as William Hill slashed the odds on Arry being the next Premiership manager up for shaving on the executioner's block form 40/1 to 5/1. 

Speculation as to the relationship between Messers Smoke and Fire is in all this has yet to be fully revealed. 

Jose Mourinho is 46.

BIOYC!

Bolton are hard work. Uneasy on the eye, workmanlike, uninspiring, you name it, they've got what nobody really wants in spades.

Gary Megson must of been one of those poor unfortunates Hoddle disgraced himself telling us about. What did Megson to in a previous life? Did his incarceration in the purgatory of t'Reebok include losing his Warren Beatty looks, thick black hair, height and that certain way with the ladies?

Or was there in actual fact  no fall from grace in a former life for unwholesme deeds and he has in fact always lived under a bridge as a ginger troll awaiting goats? 

Well goats and goading goats at that are what he has and in some good number. The fans up there have no respect for him and despite him ernestly streering the dowdy good ship Trotter wayward of relegation still they barrack the little bald bleeder.

If I were him I jack it all in and open up a corner shop. He looks like a newsagent and given Boltons's transfer budget he's well used to balancing the pennies.

For us, Awesome Dawson is back. Pleased to hear it. This is precisely that boy's kind of game and any rustiness that might be exposed by say Chelsea, will hopefully be lost in the quite probable argey bargey that this lot will serve up.

As for the rest of our number it'll be down to Arry to make sure he sends out eleven footballers who are prepaired to get stuck in up there. Watch out for multiple substitutions of those who still have mud free shirts come half time.

Bolton's form ain't great, nor is it abysmal. Their seven points sees them sat, Boltonlike in thirteenth.  Beaten indoors by Sunderland and Liverpool, their only wins were scrapes past freefalling Pompey and by a goal at Brum. It all counts for little of course as the mantra of 'they've never won here in the league' will be piped into every squad player's home by Clinton Baptiste.

Predictions? Well easy ones include that neither Defoe or Pavyluchencko will score. Modders will have a quiet game and for that matter it'll be a suprise if we even hear Chimbonda's name mentioned.

PSB.3™  will have it all to do again. Scored five in two games and still only really loved by housewives and small children and any other people who tendnot to use the word 'ponce' in everyday conversation.

This is a game he could well vanish off the face of the earth in and I hope Arry will take him up on his generous offer of being benched for the greater good. The only other potential contender for Missing Man Of The Match is Jermaine Jenas. Let's hope we don't have to get the bi noc u lars out for either gentlemen.

So here's my Driscoll Brothers XI to give the Team Trotter a good roughing up'round the back of the Nag's Head then:

   

     

  

 Crouching Alnwick

                          Clark Keltie            Danny Simpson         David Edgar            Kieran Gibbs

            Jack Wilkinson             Matthew Bates                James Morrison                  Scott Sinclair

                                               Obi Wan Ken                           Like An Alan Smith

                                                 Knob You                                 Up A Drainpipe

 Jack Wilkinson said she knew how to please a man which probably fell a little short of the high praise that a woman with Aime's unrelenting sexual appetite might have been expecting or indeed hoping for at this stage of her career.

Aime shot to non fame on the telly programme X Factor where she apparently forgot her words and was assisted by Cheryl Cole. Ironic that in herthreadbare social whirl the only words she tends to encounter routinely are 'that was good' and 'was that good?' 

Ha. And had her off stage ambitions achieved greater success up the football food chain it easily might have been Mr Cole with his comforting hand in her lap last Saturday night...

Ms Buck is currently pursuing her career as a singer with a photo shoot with Zoo Magazine tomorrow, according to her Facebook profile.