Here’s a thought. Sven’s off to the industrial north west to the Eastlands stadium where the most exotic manager they’ve had was probably Mel Machin. I know they are owned by the Thai guy now but it all seems so incongruous for the urbane sophisticated former manager of Lazio, Benfica, Gothenburg, Sampdoria and England to end up in Gorton (my father’s p.o.b).
Well, big Sam resigns from Bolton, incredibly, two games before the end of the season and potentially their highest ever finish in the Premiership. Eh? Apparently he’s fed up not getting loadsamoney to spend on players (not counting wages). Didn’t realise you could spend it at the moment Sam but anyway.
Little Sam takes over and you just sense it will end in tears. I know he’s highly rated as a coach and number 2 but so was Brian Kidd. But Kidd was 6′ and looked the part even if he couldn’t hack it as No 1. Forgive me but Little Sam just doesn’t look like he’s going to instill fear and trepidation in his players. Squaring up to big Sam must have taken some spunk but little Sam? Anelka’s going to have a field day tormenting him.
Anyway why did Sam really do it, now? You’ve got to believe he had an inkling about the Newcastle job don’t you think? Maybe his son tipped him off, oh I forgot he’s doing property development in Spain. But hey, isn’t that where Sir Freddy Shepherd has his pleasure dome? Only joking…
However I do think I’ve sussed out Big Fred’s management recruitment policy. For several years now he’s been plumping for guys who don’t look/act like him. First there was the one with permed hair and little bubbly personality (Sir John may have had a hand in that one but it didn’t work), then dour scotsman (that didn’t work), then sexy foreign guy with dreadlocks (disaster), then old guy with white hair who couldn’t remember his name let alone anyone else’s (nice fella that one, pity it didn’t work), then no-nonsense sargeant major type (that was hopeless – he fell out with everyone, what a miserable bugger), then finally the guy who looks like one of those characters exposed in the NotW (don’t think the lads like him wandering round the showers).
So if you were Freddy you’d probably be thinking now, well I’ve done all the not-like-me types, what if this time (here’s the killer connection) I go for someone in my own image! Now who do I know who’s a big lummocks, wears crap ties and poorly fitting suits and inappropriate shirts, talks with a dopey-sounding accent, has a bad hair style (actually Freddy that’s not a style at all) and hasn’t a clue about spending large anounts of money wisely? BIG SAM! Bugger he’s already working at bloody Bolton. Shouts to secretary, ‘Deirdre what’s wor Sam’s lad’s telephone number love? Get him on t’phone….
It could never happen, could it…