Right, apologies.
I haven't blogged in a month....and what a month. You had to laugh at all the shellsuits and hoodies slicin' sand to get down to Tottingham ( as Ossie put it) and ripping off Primark in the name of revolution. " Oh yeah, this is about the difference between have and have-not. About a Britain divided...about hatin' wealth and what it represents..."
Uh huh....which is why the " yoof team" nipped over to White Hart Lane and trailed Luka Modric for turning down a million grand a month with Spurs so that he can hang out on the Kings Road, kicking a ball around the Chelsea midfield 9 times a season. Anyway, there goes the politics.
What about the Cat & Spraggsy?
Well, I'm warming the bench so much I've got splinters up my arse and I've more chance of catching herpes as I have of catching a cross ball from the opposition.
I've done porridge before but that was my salad days when I was happy to sit in the dugout and listen to the manager and coaches lamenting the lack of purpose and ability whilst changing the formation on the hour. Once upon a time I thought it was part of my education. A chance to hear a game spread out in front of me...dissected by the "experts" in the boot room....every pass, flick, high line defensive manouvere, counter-attacking option and the ebb and flow of the 90 minutes.
I was young, eager....fuck it, interested.
Now I couldn't be more bored if they stuck the Loose Women omnibus on at half-time.
Fuck me...does Mac even know what's going on out on the pitch? I always thought he did but on the opening day of the season, in what should have been a routine fixture for a team who got to the third round of the cup a few years ago, he decided, after 10 minutes mark you, that we should revert to a 5-man midfield with Spock playing the lone striker role. ( fascinating captain)
Inevitably, they bypassed our cunning plan by producing what SkySports call " Route 1 tactics" sticking high balls over the back four until some unknown Belgian striker with less fat than a corn beef sandwich rolled the defence and rifled a first-time drive low and left into the corner of the net.
To be honest, I thought Spraggsy should have had it...christ, 10 years ago I'd have HELD it but he misread the speed and direction and so his debut fixture required him to pick the ball out of the net.
I'm not going to deny a slight warmth across the loins when I realised it was his mistake. Trouble was...I was the only one. Mac and Riv thought "...the bounce was deceptive." I tell you, if Spraggsy owned up to the Bible John killings, Mac and Riv would make up some excuse for it.
So, while your dividing your time between the Sopranos boxset, checking your online banking, horsing a pizza and reading through this reverie, bear in mind that some of us are welding our arse to the plastic and praying for the chance to play a game of football.
