'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?

This is alright this supporting Tottenham lark, isn't it? I mean, I wasn't too sure how it was going to pan out to be honest. A few hairy moments. You know that Manchester United thing and then there was that Chelsea business; but once you get into the swing of things it's actually not bad, not that bad at all. 
 
The fully paid up miserable gits amongst you will of course be staring at your feet and grunting it was only Burnley under your breath. My Dad's next door neighbour is in her late 70's. She had a stroke a while back and due to an appalling misdiagnosis when she broke her foot last year she now only walks very short distances with a stick. I'll conceed she could have probably stopped Keane's last strike.
 
And Burnley gave Tottenham more time than the judge gave the Great Train Robbers, but that wasn't Tottenham's fault. Spur's capitalised and did so keeping both a clean sheet and providing the Man Who Came In From The Cold hmself, PSB - with a much needed boost.
 
A real test will be in a week's time when we going to the Reebok where I think we've never won a league game? Is that right? Megson will come out from trolling under his bridge and see if the fatted N17 goats are good for snacking on, as per usual. If we can keep produce a win there then it won't be too early to start saying that we're consolidating our current nose bleed inducing spot in the table.
 
The naysayers will have to admit we're at long last and to some large extent anyway, doing the business.

BIOYC! 

You'll be pleased to hear that being a rat faced turn coat no mark squirrel fancying blanket scuttling Bulgarian son of a rapist isn't all beer and skittles.

Our old friend and erstwhile badge kissing servant Dimitar Berbatov has been playing with fire. Well, if the Current Bun are right, he's actually been playing a dangerous game of textual ecstasy with someone else's old lady.

As it transpires, the tart with the heart in question is the effervescent (and it's difficult to imagine that she efferwasn't) Nikoletta Lozanova. Dischuffed with young Dimi's text tennis is her old man, mobster extraordinaire, Georgi 'The Head' Stoilov.

The story in full is HERE.  Neither Mitka or United would comment...

 There's a Jackie Mason line, you hit forty and you'd marry a chair. That sense of wanting rather than needing kicked in with a lot of Yids this week.

And so Michael Owen has signed for Manchester United.

To my mind, the former darling of En-ger-land will arrive at Old Trafford with an entirely different burden of expectations than had he come to The Lane. They will deploy him sparingly, in cup competitions, lesser European games, that sort of thing.

Had we audaciously swooped, the hopes and dreams of us all would have been pinned upon his creaking frame in every game. And my best prediction is that he would have failed us. 

So without being churlish, it's a result we didn't get him in. If you needed any proof just ask any of our existing strikers who are superior in virtually every respect and they will tell you our problem doesn't lie with them, but the hit and more often miss nature of their supply.

To which end I wish the multi millionaire, horse owning, property portfolioing midget well. His departure will be a blessing to Mike Ashley's pocket and a albeit predictable one, it's another blow for the bar code faithful.

Sod'em.

BIOYC!

Interesting piece in today's Grauniad on our new best friend Howard Webb.HERE.

The suggestion is made by erstwhile Premier League referee that Webb, having got just got word days before our game against Manchester United that he had landed the FA Cup Final was 'out to make a big call.'

"It's the wrong thing to do and I think Howard's looked for a big call - nothing to do with favouring Manchester United, nothing to do with the situation in the game.

"The interesting thing for me is that Howard Webb, when he knows he's got something right, is very strong in his body language - very strong indeed.

After the decision, he was walking away, getting away from that area."

I think that's what they call in the trade a pretty damning indictment. 

Depressing and distressing in equal measure is that these clowns have yet to realise that we, the punters aren't paying in to watch them. The best referee in the world is either invisible or greeted with gratitude by the fans for intervening with fairness.

I have to confess, I've quite lost track of who I loathe the most at this stage. Rob Styles was number one for a good long while I can remember that much.

Apparently the FA are asking Jenas to write in to them and explain what he meant by the remarks made HERE.

Is it any wonder such patronising, out of touch twits are responsible for recruiting.... Ahh, I guess I just answered my own question.

It's live on Setanta...

Come on, let's have it right. This season has been a fiasco. If anything summed up how wierd and wonderful it became, even by our own standards then the Return Of Pointy Shouty Bloke was it.

However, as the grip of relegation has loosened from our ankles and the rarified air of the Top Ten hits our lungs, maybe, just maybe, we might just enjoy the close of this season.

I'll say this in hushed tones and in turn you keep it to yourself.Manchester United could yet well end up with nothing. The resurgence in form is all with Cheatski.

Drogba is clearly getting ready for his usual pre transfer window I just want to be with Jose press release. This week's manager Hiddink, just happens, to rather good. He's not as jolly as fellow countryman Jol and one can't help but wonder if that's part of the success. I they ever do a remake of Funeral In Berlin he'd be a dead cert for Colonel Stok.

For us it's a case now that all points are a gift. They benefit us, but equally they deprive others. Our victory over Newcastle for example.

And so Manchester United, with all their advantages know that in order to remain masters of their own destiny that they must beat us. The red machine has experienced a wobble or two of late. Humiliating themselves away at Fulham, getting thumped by The Pool and demonstrating to the watching world How Not To Take Take Penalties against Everton.

So Saturday. I predict a draw. I very rarely ever do, so here it is. One a piece. I expect us to raise our game, play as well as we did in the the Carling Cup Final and generally get up that homage to expanded capillaries that is their honcho's hooter.

1-0 Half time, 1-1 Full time is 28/1 and better.

BIOYC!

"Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird." That was the only time I ever hear Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it.  "You're father's right," she said.  "Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy.  They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us.  That's why it's a sin to kill a mocking bird." - Harper Lee. 

Poor old Dimi.

Poor old Mitka.

Poor old rat faced duplicitous, workshy, glory hunting nonce, I say. 

As WFRF's quotes revealled in the previous blog, the vintage Merc manipulating mercenary has, bless him, produced a cavalcade of comedy quotes. That is, since being sindle handedly responsible for one of the worst penalties witnessed globally in recent times.

But what do you think he was saying to himself?

Is there a prize? Of course there is. Open a window where you are and hear the giggles globally.

BIOYC!

More coasters than a coffe morning at Hyacinth Bucket's.

Even in the magnificent theatre of Old Trafford with an away support that quite frankly dwarfs most others, we still have our shirt being warn by people shirking tackles who think accountability is an O Level you need to get a job in a bank.

In places we played brightly and threatened. But what frustrated was that lack of oomph to go that extra yard. You get the impression if one of our lot started tearing around like Tevez he'd be greeted with looks of bemusement from his colleagues.  

It's a case of perception. And if you stop your average Yid in the street and ask, the response is that many of our lot don't look as if they're all that bothered. I do hope the gravity of our league position is clear in the minds of whoever plays against Stoke.

Alnwick 7 A drastic improvement on the messy midweek game. Hopefully the confidence levels are boosted.

Gunter 6 Not a bad shift. Uninventive, but kept his head in what was a harrowing game for any yougster.

A&E 6 Guilty of not closing down oncoming players.

Corluka 7 Low profile gig for the Croatian.

Dawson 7.5 Thankfully another good game.

Bale 5.5 Guilty of not closing down oncoming players.

Zokora 5.5 What does he do?

Bentley 6.5 I'll tell you this, he is working hard to distance himself from those that aren'. He isn't achieving a whole lot, but I believe he sincerely wants to.

Taarabt 6.5 The mind washing has worked and he now indulges in a practice known as 'passing'. Curiously enough this made me want him to go on some solo missions more. I am living proof you cannot win.

Huddlestone 4 Needs screaming at. Throwing against a wall and screaming at. Or binning into the reserves on half pay in return for his half performance. Sweet assist to Pav then nothing. 

Modric 5.5 This ought to have been just his gig. But he never did more than get involved in short passes and consequently created nothing. Oh, and he kept giving the ball away. Depressing.

Pavlyuchenko 7 Terrific goal. Unfortunately our gang misread the Rules of Football and didn't bother passing to him again. This guy is has the potential to become a goal machine - if he leaves Spurs.

Defoe 5 A testament to witless midfeild. Came on and was largely ignored.

Dos Santos 6 Moved brightly, but looked nervous.

And so after much weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth (not to mention a copious amount of twitching) that accompanied the brouhaha with The Burnley, we're back in the ring to take another swing.

Here's my team then: Alnwick, Gilberto, Woodgate, Rocha, Bale, Zokora, Modric, Taarabt, Bentley, Defoe, Pavyluchenko.

The subs will be equally interesting.  Ranieri, Dervitte, Huddlestone, Dos Santos, Bent, Bostock

This game will not be pivotal. This game won't count for schnichts - unless we draw or win. It will however be an opportunity for those fortunate enough to be offered a part to play to make a stand.

Suddenly I remember some lyrics... And a hundred lonely housewives clutch empty milk
bottles to their hearts, hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry, it's enough to make you stop believing when tears come fast and furious... Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Oh, and Taarabt fans this is for you, my dears... http://www.mediafire.com/?kg2yjq3vloz