August 2006 Archives

I suppose Newcastle can at least say they didn't panic, they just didn't get anyone. Problem is, I'm not sure which is worse. Oh, sorry, they got Antoine Sibierski, but he was hardly the big name fans wanted, or the defender Glenn Roeder clearly needed.

But I'm not going to slag the Frenchman off here. He hasn't even kicked a ball for the club and he deserves as much support as any other United player. It isn't his fault he's not a defender or a proven Premiership goalscorer, so go Sibi go. Remember Owen Hargreaves?

As for Sunderland, well if we needed any evidence of Roy Keane's pulling power as a manager, how does five pretty decent looking signings in a day sound?

How many times have you heard a football manager insist that he will not be making any panic buys, that he will not sign players just for the sake of it and that he is only interested in players who are better than what he has already got?

Big, bold words, which are then so often conveniently forgotten when teams have a rubbish start to the new season, the transfer window is coming to a close and managers take one final look at their squads and, well, panic!

What will they do if their centre forward's shin explodes, or their best centre back gets locked up for assaulting a police officer, or their expensive new winger's head comes off in a freak training ground accident?

I forgot to mention over the weekend that HRH Princess Zara Phillips - she's one of the Queen''s many grandaughters - is now a world champion three day eventer. She is also the only Royal to have achieved anything other than tabloid headlines for virtually a decade.

So well done Zara, congratulations. You should be very proud of yourself and thankful you were not a boy because the only thing you'd have ridden then would have been tanks in the army.

Obviously, however, you'd just have driven them around Britain. The armed forces may be involved in two international conflicts in Afghanisatan and Iraq, but I can't see two heirs to the throne, Princes William and Harry, hitting the frontline can you?

With Roy Keane installed in the manager’s chair down the road at the Stadium of Light - and no I won’t be rhyming it with anything Newcastle fans - one of the many big cheeses who travelled up from London yesterday to attend his first press conference asked the question, are Sunderland more interesting than Newcastle now?

Certainly Keane - who I have to say was very charming and even smiled at me, although that may have something to do with the fact that I tripped over a BBC cameraman midway through his press conference - was quick to argue that Sunderland had the potential to compete with Newcastle, both on and off the pitch.

I'm off to meet Roy Keane this afternoon so desperately trying to think of a nice easy question to get us off on the right foot. The last thing I want is to annoy him on his first day in the job, the question is will he turn on the Irish charm or try to stamp his authority - not literally I hope - on the press pack.

I suppose it's a bit like an early tackle in a football match and Roy was not averse to letting someone know he was there after three seconds with a well aimed kick to the shin, or ankle, or knee, or groin! Don't take liberties and you won't get kicked again, don't ask stupid questions and I won't throw you across the press room again!

Far be it from me to tell him what to do, God forbid, but don’t you think this whole Roy Keane thing has gone on long enough? He either wants the job or not and if he doesn’t please tell poor old Niall Quinn because the guy has put his neck on the line with this one.

Mind you, it is perhaps worth remembering - although I have to admit I never saw it - that, according to informed sources at Sky Sports, when Quinn was asked whether his former Republic of Ireland teammate would make a good manager he said ‘No’

When I was a boy Grandstand was sport on television, now it is like the family run butcher stubbornly refusing to shut down despite the presence of the gleaming, glass fronted 24 hour supermarket down the road with its neatly packaged special offer chops and cling flim wrapped Beef joints with ready made Horseradish.

It survives, but only just, its trade constantly squeezed by powerful and ruthless corporate rivals in the same way that BBC Sport has been bullied ever since Rupert Mudoch started persuading us all to attach Sky dishes to the sides of our houses

But on a rare Saturday off during the football season I still like to tune in to Grandstand. After all, it's not every day you get to watch cross country running, rowing and tiddle winks from Chester Town Hall is it?!

When you were a kid, you were always taught to say sorry when you did something wrong, so I suppose the parents of Manchester City's Ben Thatcher deserve some credit for the way they raised their son.

I mean, he did at least say sorry for smashing his elbow into Pedro Mendes' face, knocking him out and prompting him to have fit as he lay on the floor. Well he didn't actually say sorry, he wrote a letter, because Mendes was in hospital, but the thought was there I suppose.

However, somehow I doubt whether Mr and Mrs Thatcher are feeling very proud of their boy at the moment given the fact that he has just committed one of the worst fouls ever seen in the Premiership.

Football fans are a funny lot aren't they, always cracking jokes and revelling in a spot of gallows humour after their side has just conceded a third goal midway through the first half and all there is to look forward to is a 150 mile round trip home and some food at an over-priced service station.

Well it's either that or smash up the away end before invading the pitch to strangle a lumbering defender and nobody wants to see a return to those dark days of football hooliganism do they?

So, with that in mind, I thought I'd share a couple of wisecracks told to me by some well lubricated Newcastle fans who, like me, had needed some light entertainment after witnessing United's inability to break down a surprisingly resolute, albeit utterly un-ambitious, FK Ventispils side on Thursday night.

Like a star centre forward returning from injury (in your own time Michael Owen), like a main strike bowler receiving the new ball from an expectant captain (I can assure you there will be no ball tampering going on here either) and like the world's leading golfer sending down a 22 foot putt (no chance of that being a Brit anytime soon then) to win the Open, I'm back!