Well we’ve been forecasting it for weeks and tonight Newcastle U have sacked Sam Allardyce. I take no pleasure seeing anyone lose his job but Sam’s appointment always looked a mis-match and he’s been dead man walking since the new guy took over ownership. I note they allowed Sam one poke at the transfer market to see how he fared and he made a bid for Wes Brown but Man U weren’t interested. Nor too was Wes by the look of it and I’m sure the owners must have thought that if Sam can’t attract a Man U squad player, what chance would they have attracting top players all the way up to Geordieland? None is the answer so they’ve withheld the money and got rid of Sam instead. It makes sense not to throw more money at a problem that wouldn’t go away – Allardyce couldn’t handle that particular job.
It’s looking grim up north for Sam Allardyce and his chances of remaining Newcastle Utd’s boss. After a dour draw with Derby and a loss to Wigan over the weekend, I reckon he may be hours away from the A1 and the P45. I don’t think the long-suffering Magpies fans have ever minded losing providing the team played with panache and spirit. But the quality of the football recently has been awful. Against lowly Wigan the team couldn’t muster a single shot at goal. What’s gone wrong?
Clutching their P45’s that is perhaps? What do you think? Allardyce wasn’t the managerial choice of new owner Mike Ashley, he spent quite a bit of money in the transfer window and after a decent start they’ve now gone 5 games picking up just one point in the process. It’s not exactly the biggest slump of all time but the toon are starting to get badly beaten; the fans are, in the words of that great observer of human nature Joey Barton, turning ‘vicious’ in their criticism of the manager and the standard of play, and yesterday it came out that a delegation of senior players led by captain Geremi are making representations to the manager about his tactics and methods. It all sounds very recent Bolton-like.
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…