Seven days and one week

A round-up of the week's major news stories as seen through the eyes of an inattentive, misinformed moron.

YOU CAN'T BUY CLASS

Remember when you were a little 'un and your Mother told you not to play with (insert name of local ruffian here). You dutifully obliged like the good child you were, but all the while you wondered what it was about that boy/girl that made them so undesirable. Occasionally you'd question your Mam and ask why you couldn't play with him/her, to which the response would be “You just can't, that's why”. Now that I'm older I understand why I couldn't play with that little scamp, it was because he was a menace to society and spent his evenings terrorising the local village folk. Thanks Mammy, I would have hated to spend my formative years in a young offender's home.

But our mothers didn't make those decisions flippantly. Oh no. They knew every kid's family background inside out and their suitability as a friend was based on their findings. On the rare occasion that you made a friend whom your mother knew nothing about she would spend a few minutes assessing his character before passing judgement. If he said please and thank you and looked like he'd bathed within the previous week then he usually made the cut. But do you know what the funny thing was? Even as children we were aware of class, albeit subconsciously. Think back to the kids that were your best friends when you were lickle – they invariably came from a similar environment to you. We naturally gravitate to those we feel most comfortable with, see Mammy all your fretting was for nothing!

But our mother's should consider themselves fortunate – back then we were all either called Johnny, Jimmy, Micky or Paddy, so the notion of avoiding someone based on their Christian name was unheard of. It's a lot tougher these days apparently, take poor Katie Hopkins (no seriously take her), she has an awful time deciding which children are worthy enough to spend time with her precious offspring. Luckily she has a foolproof method which ensures no scallywags come within ten feet of Poppy and India. By simply ruling out children who possess a 'working-class' name she ensures that her own little angels remain unharmed and oblivious to the evils of the world.

So if you're called Tyler, Chardonnay or Brandon this is your lucky day, you're not going to be invited over to the Hopkins' for afternoon crumpets and tea. Phew. Lucky escape there. What the tiny-minded Katie fails to grasp is how damaging this is not only to those children whom she so fecklessly labels but also to her own. What kind of world are they going to grow up in? One where they're taught to turn their nose up at those who are inferior to them. The saddest thing is that those precious little minds which are so eager for information will eventually be polluted by their idiot Mother, until, a few years down the line, they are preaching the same shit to their own progeny.

IT'S A FUCKING DISGRACE

I don't particularly like rugby but I can still say without any hesitation that Brian O'Driscoll is one of, if not the, greatest Irish sportsmen of all time. Very few Irish athletes reach the pinnacle of their sport on a global scale, even less stay there for a protracted period of time. He has been universally regarded as among the best in his sport for the past ten years, in recent times only Roy Keane and Padraig Harrington could lay similar claims. 'BOD' is one of our nation's favourite sons, at least among the rugby fraternity anyway. So when another Lions tour trundled round there was much talk of O'Driscoll finally laying to rest his own personal ghosts. It would be his fourth, and last, tour and his final opportunity to actually win a series.

A less than stellar performance in the second test was summarily dismissed, “you can't drop BOD, it's unthinkable”. But someone was thinking about it, and he just happened to be the most important man of all. Warren Gatland must have expected some raised eyebrows when he shunted O'Driscoll out of the squad for the final test, but the shitstorm that followed must have exceeded his very worst expectations. Like I've said previously I'm far from what you'd call a rugby fan, therefore it's not for me to weigh up the merits of O'Driscoll versus some Welsh meathead. But what I can weigh up is the sheer idiocy of the moronic masses.

These are the same people who campaigned for Ireland's game against France to be replayed in the wake of Henry's infamous handball. These are the same people who spout the same reactionary bollocks every time something not to their liking happens in the sporting world. Off they go creating their Facebook groups, brandishing everything 'an absolute fuckin' disgrace' and generally frothing at the mouth at the sheer injustice of it all. Numbskulls. Football has become infested with nu-age fans with little or no understanding of the game and now it appears to be rugby's turn.

Thanks to the success of the Irish teams in the Heineken Cup rugby is now more popular than ever. And with popularity comes new supporters, people with high expectations and little or no patience. I'm sure most time-worn rugby fans accepted Gatland's decision to drop O'Driscoll. They might not have agreed with it but they understood it and saw the reasoning behind it. And I'm almost completely sure that those same dyed in the wool supporters cringe every time they listened to another outraged caller calling for Gatland to be hung, drawn and quartered for his crimes against humanity. Imagine if the Lions had lost the final test. Imagine how happy those imbeciles would have been. How justified they would have felt. As it was the Lions romped to victory and O'Driscoll got the honour of contributing to a test-winning team. So really everyone's a winner. Except Warren Gatland, 'cos he's a cunt. Right?

THE REFEREE'S A.........GONER

Who'd be a football referee eh? 22 tosspots acting the maggot on the pitch and thousands more giving you grief from the stands, it truly is a thankless task. FIFA constantly harp on about respect within the game but let's face it referees are treated like shit by players and managers alike and that's unlikely to change any time soon. They could always follow rugby union's lead and issue the refs with microphones so we can listen to Ashley Cole's foul-mouthed tirades but even that is unlikely to change things. No, what's needed is a more hands-on approach. For too long these overpaid nancy boys have been taking liberties with the man in the middle. My suggestion? Corporal punishment.

Let us arm our referees. That's right arm the poor sods. How many times have you watched a footballer eyeball the man in black and wonder how on earth he can restrain himself? Well now we won't have to wonder any more. Before each game they'll select their weapon of choice, whether it be a tazer, a cattle prod, pepper spray or maybe just a big fuck off stick. And then, with their armament carefully concealed in their shorts, they will take to the pitch ready to do battle with anyone stupid enough to question them. This new legislation should be trialled at an El Classico in Spain, and of course the players shouldn't know anything about it.

So two minutes in Ronaldo takes a theatrical dive and straight away the ref is surrounding by the loathsome Busquets, Ramos and Pedro. Back off he'll say (or whatever the Spanish equivalent is), back off lads I'm warning you, but it's no use the whinging little fuckers are waving imaginary cards, doing that tiresome pleading to God gesture and generally being a pain in the arse. Then BAM! A tazer to the chest. Down goes Ramos. And for once he's actually hurt. Immediately all the rest of the little shites go on the retreat. No more nonsense.

So what brought on this idea I hear you ask? Take a look at this story. This was a referee that truly meant business. But bringing a knife onto the pitch is a step too far in my opinion. That's just asking for trouble. I mean that's the kind of thing that's likely to get a fella beheaded - or something like that anyway.

CEASE AND DESIST

Sadly we're unlikely to see football referees armed with anything more than a whistle and a few pencils for the foreseeable future. But one establishment that has access to a veritable cornucopia of artillery is the US police force. And by fuck they're not afraid to use it. The debate on American gun law and it's effect upon society seems to intensify any time some fucked up teenager goes on a killing spree, but it's essentially become a Catch 22 scenario and stripping the police of their firearms is not the way to go. However in saying that they should be taught to exercise a little restraint when engaging with the general public, and nothing underlines that point more than the following video.

Horrible to watch wasn't it? I don't have access to US police protocol but if it really says 'shoot a poor defenceless animal if it barks at you' in their rule book then it's probably time for an update. Their motto is “To Serve and Protect”. Who was being served or protected by that cowardly act? It could be argued that the dog was a threat and therefore had to be pacified, but shooting it? Come on. I refuse to believe that the officer in question had no other option. That he couldn't have reached for his pocket and produced something other than a deadly weapon. That he couldn't have subdued the dog in another, non fatal, way. The officer in question has been taken off the streets indefinitely, finally some justice. 'Fraid not – he has been removed for his own safety and has received the full backing of his superiors. 

Last Minute Shopping Rush Boosts UK Economy

Transfer Deadline Day and it could be your club........



The camera pans slowly on to the face of the maniacal white haired Scotsman. This looks serious, it could be a biggie. We pry our eyes away from the omnipresent yellow ticker for just one second and give the odious Jim White our full attention. He's played possum with us on many an occasion before but this time it'll be different. A British transfer record perhaps? Wesley Sneijder at Manchester Airport? What could it be? In the manner of a president solemnly addressing his citizens White carefully ruffles his sheets of paper, clears his throat, takes a deep breath and announces the news we've all been waiting for....”Reports just in.....our sources are telling us that........Burnley, yes Burnley.......have made a bid for Watford utitlity man....” his voice drifts away in the background as our hearts sink and we rebuke ourselves for being fooled again. How could we have been so gullible? This is a man who'd call a press conference for the opening of a pack of Hob Nobs and here we are in thrall to his every word on a bright Wednesday afternoon at the tail end of another disappointing summer. But it's transfer deadline day and even if there was a street party involving high kicking, high living samba dancers with liberal attitudes to clothing going on outside you still couldn't drag yourself away from the screen and that blasted yellow ticker.

Believe it or not there was a time when the wonder that is transfer deadline day didn't actually exist. Clubs were free to sign players all year round and did so at their leisure whether it was August 31^st or a murky winter's evening slapbang in the middle of the season. But as ever the powers that be decided that this perfectly functioning state of affairs just wouldn't do and so in their infinite wisdom they did what they always do and tampered with it. The summer transfer window and it's cousin the shorter, but no less dramatic, winter transfer window were brought into effect at the turn of the century much to the bemusement of all involved in the game and with it came the advent of what we now know as transfer deadline day or TDD for short (how have Sky not adopted that acronym? It just rolls off the tongue!). At first managers tentatively utilised the window unsure of its mechanics not wishing to break any unforeseen, obscure rule or regulation. They did their utmost to ensure that all business was finalised well in advance of the closing date leaving only the moronic, the desperate and Harry Redknapp frantically scrambling for players at the very last. Oh how they laughed at the idea that this new fangled restriction would hamper their chances of success, “I've got a squad full to the brim with talent and by jove they'll last me all season you just wait and see”.

Fast forward a couple of months and an ashen faced Premier League manager stalks off the training ground having seen his inexperienced but precocious left back left in a crumpled heap by that lumbering ape of a centre forward who in all honesty should have retired at least two years ago. The gaffer storms into his office silently beckoning his first team coach inside as he does so. “Young Robinson has just done his metatarsal in training, do you know what that means?” The first team coach knows this is a rhetorical question but answers it just to fill the deadening silence filling the room. “We've got no fit left backs at the club Boss”. His superior barely hears him however as he is in the process of making a phone call, a desperate plea for help as it turns out. “Hello is this the FA?”..........”Can I speak to the chairman please?”...............”Well can I leave a message then?”...............”Ok, could you just ask if there's any possibility, any whatsover, that I could perhaps be given clemency to sign a player outside of the transfer window?”...........”Yes, yes I know all that but just ask him...please?”...................................”Why not?”....................”What the hell would you know you're just a secretary!!!”................”NO I WILL NOT LOWER MY VOICE, DO YOU REALISE I'VE GOT NO FIT LEFT BACKS AT MY CLUB, WELL? DO YOU?!?!?!.....And so it begins.

Once the dawning realisation that the squads they were equipped with come the end of each respective window were the ones they'd be left to face battle with for the duration the managers promptly changed tack. Like a bunch of guilt ridden husbands who'd forgotten their wives birthdays they hastily snapped up any old item from the shelves not even stopping to check it's sell by date or whether it had been previously mishandled. All rational was lost as players were bought, traded and loaned with abandon and some of us were even moved to feel a slight tinge of sympathy for these pampered millionaires whose futures were being toyed with before our very eyes. Whilst the managers, players and most importantly the paymasters were desperately unhappy with this new state of affairs for everyone else it was an absolute hoot. Us supporters got more drama condensed into these manic few days than many of us would witness over the forthcoming season. Print journalists merrrily spun ever more fanciful tales with little possibility of reproach, a strike rate of one accurate story out of twenty was considered informed reporting during this fevered time. Those in the Sky Sports News studios had an absolute ball and the scramble to see the roster for the closing week of August saw Vicky Gomarsall almost trampled to death by the over eager Mike Wedderburn. But as is the case in most walks of life the ones who benefited most were those who deserved it the least.

To be a football agent during the closing days of a transfer window must be like entering a nightclub, surveying the scene, and realising that you're the only bloke amongst scores of 'up for it' women, everyone wants a piece of you. Most Premier League managers will tell you that agents are the scourge of the game and most view them as a necessary evil which must be negotiated when procuring the services of a player. But come TDD these footballing pariahs are in high demand, no longer are their dubious activities questioned by a single soul as even the very top bosses bite their tongue and dial the number filed under 'meddling tosser' in their phones. Of course agents lap this up and take great pleasure in playing clubs off against each other in the hope of acquiring even more unwarranted cash for they and their client. But it's not just the agents who play hard ball, club chairmen wholeheartedly get in on the sordid act and hike prices up to ridiculous levels in the hope of ensnaring a manager at the end of his tether after several dozen rebuttals. Instead of tying up all their business in the early months of summer and heading off to sun themselves in foreign lands managers choose to play a dangerous game of russian roulette leaving themselves open to the possibility of waking up on September 1^st with nothing more than a dead phone battery and a second rate Venezualan winger that they don't even remember signing.

But the question asked more than any other during this time is why leave it till the last day? Yes we know there's the possibility of last minute bargains aplenty, the chance that stubbornly hard headed chairmen might suddenly relent and that wantaway stars may have an unexpected change of heart and committ their future to the club, but really would it not just save a lot of hassle if everyone was a bit more up front with each other. Take the recently closed transfer window for example. It was clear to any follower of the game that Luka Modric wanted out of White Hart Lane but because he's quite a respectable little chap he didn't want to cause too much of a fuss in doing so. Now the decent thing to do for the Croatian would have been to say 'Ok Chelsea you can have him but only if you give us £40million up front, right now'. Reports suggest that at the very death a fee rumoured to be similar to that was tabled by Abramovich but by then it was far too late to put together a deal of such magnitude. So instead Spurs are left with a clearly unhappy player who will most likely be off next summer for a price guaranteed to be less than that offered this time around, Chelsea having been unable to procure their number one target have ended up with the enigmatic Raul Merieles, and in the process dented Liverpool's squad with insufficient time to get a replacement, and the only ones coming out of with any real satisfaction are yes you've guessed it, the agents. Oh and Jim White of course.

Love it or loathe it the current system of transfer windows look set to stay for the forseeable future. We will continue to spend entire summers listening to ongoing sagas and being duped into believing that come the end of August all will be okay. Even those who don't foresee any actitivy for their club will still wake up on TDD and secretly think that yes today's the day, that bid for Messi is finally going to happen and by midnight tonight he will be ours. It makes no economic sense whatsoever to have a deadline for clubs to finalise all their business but since when did anything about football make any sense? What it does do is make dreamers of us all and keep us hoping against all hope, throughout each and every window, that our beloved team will be the ones in the centre of the maelstrom come the final minutes. As long as there is TDD there will be hundreds of thousands of football fans glued to the screens more in hope than belief, but really is that much different to the experience of watching an actual game? Delusion is part of every football supporters armoury and for that reason alone we enjoy this crazed skirmish. Maybe one day transfer windows will be abolished and we'll look back on those frenzied last days with a hint of nostalgia but no matter how misty eyed we get about transfer deadlines past none of us will ever get quite so emotional as Jim White who, annoying as he may be, is the undisputed King of TDD and will in all likelihood end up being the first man to spontaneously combust live on air some time in the not too distant future.

The more things change the more they stay the same

Premier League Preview 2011/12...

Talk of fate and destiny is all too commonplace in the world of sport but there was a certain irony in Manchester City finally ending their thirty odd year wait for a trophy within hours of their more illustrious neighbours securing a record breaking nineteenth league title. Having had this barren period continually rammed down their throats by United fans it was almost inevitable that their celebrations at finally capturing a major trophy were somewhat tempered by the record breaking exploits of United. But in many ways it has always been thus. Although City were for certain spells before the war perceived as the 'bigger club' of Manchester the arrival of Matt Busby and his revolutionising of United cast a long shadow over the blue half of the city. Busby's holy grail as United manager was of course the European Champions Cup and upon finally reaching his summit and leading his side to glory he secured their place in the annals of history as the first English club to win the biggest prize in club football. But once again City's feats found themselves overlooked as despite becoming English League Champions for the first time in over thirty years their achievement paled in comparison to that of their local rivals.

But now over forty years later with City having endured year after painful year in the background as United swept all before them it seems that thanks to the dollars, pounds and roubles of some mysterious benevolent Arabs the noisy neighbours may finally be ready to step out of the shadows. Thanks to a level of investment scarcely seen before in the English game Manchester City find themselves installed as third favourites for the ultimate prize behind United and another team not shy of splashing some unearned cash Chelsea. Much is expected of Mancini's men having had a bedding in period which yielded the prize of a place amongst Europe's elite in the Champions League, but for those behind the scenes at Eastlands this is what they believe to be just the beginning of a period of glory unprecedented in the club's history. With a squad starting to look like a cohesive unit of athletes rather than an assorted bunch of misfits, mercenaries and morons they seem well placed to make a concerted tilt at toppling United from the top of the pile.

However just as all seemed rosy at City so a spanner is thrown in the works. Although their talismanic captain Carlos Tevez is still officially a City player and a replacement in Sergio Aguero has been procured it's difficult to surmise how much of an impact the inevitable departure of the want away Argentine will have. A City side which, up until now, has performed in a manner best described as perfunctory may find that they suddenly have to express themselves and go out and win games rather than simply play to avoid defeat. This is particularly true of their approach to games against the traditional big four where City will have to learn that self preservation is simply not enough and that victories in these games are crucial towards league success. So with the blues of Manchester seemingly ready to break into the elite what of the other sides that have made the top four spots their own in recent years.

In securing United's nineteenth league title Sir Alex Ferguson finally made good on his claim of knocking Liverpool off their fucking perch but where to next for a man about to enter his eighth decade on this earth. Following their humbling at the hands of Barcelona in the Champions League final Fergie could have been forgiven for thinking that his most imperative task was assembling a side capable of toppling the Catalan maestros but he would do well to take heed of the growing threat from his 'noisy neighbours'. In the aftermath of that Wembley humiliation and the subsequent retirement of Paul Scholes it was clear to even the most narrow sighted United fan that one area of the team in particular needed immediate surgery. That we now sit here on eve of a new season and United have thus far failed to embellish their midfield options may be down to a multitude of reasons but if Ferguson wishes to fend off the challenges on the domestic front and overcome the obstacles he faces in Europe then it's imperative he land Wesley Sneijder or a similarly capable midfield general.

Aside from his midfield dilemma Sir Alex has spent wisely with the only question mark hovering over new goalkeeper David de Gea following a less than steady debut against City in the Community Shield. However Ferguson's relative problems pale into comparison when put up against some of his contemporaries. Over the last trophy-less 6 years Arsene Wenger has gradually begun to resemble a man slowly but quite steadily heading towards severe dementia. Having seen his young team capitulate on more occasions than a child taking it's first steps, culminating in an embarrassing Carling Cup Final defeat to relegated Birmingham, Wenger has spent this summer fending off the inevitable interest in not only his captain, Cesc Fabregas, but also the gifted young Frenchman Samir Nasri. With the likelihood being that he will eventually lose both of these crucially important players before the transfer window closes pressure will be at an all time high for a manager second only to Ferguson in Premier League longevity. For some time now it has seemed almost disingenuous to suggest that Wenger could ever be sacked but depending on the state of his squad come the 1^st of September and the early displays of a team shorn

Across London Chelsea have never been shy in tearing up the script and starting all over again and their latest change in management sees Portuguese rookie (sound familiar?) Andre Villas Boas take the helm. At just 33 Villas Boas becomes the youngest boss in the league, rather ironic when you consider that the team he inherits is one that has been gradually aging together for some time now. After a stirring start to the season the West Londoners ended their campaign rather tamely bowing to United in both Europe and at home. For many it seemed like the end of an era as long standing lynch pins Terry, Lampard and Drogba seemed to be playing only from memory such was their inability to affect things in the manner we'd become accustomed to seeing. All of this pointed to a busy summer at Stamford Bridge with some wondering whether a complete overhaul was required if Roman Abramovich was ever to fulfil his dream of winning the Champions League. But save for a couple of low key signings and their continual, fruitless pursuit of Luka Modric Chelsea appear content to stay with what they have and rely on their new young manager to wring one last season out of those declining legs.

Having welcomed back their very own messiah in January of this year Liverpool embarked on a run that saw them shoot up the table and qualify for Europe when at one point relegation had been mentioned in dispatches. A large part of this strong finish to the season was the form of recently acquired Uruguayan Luis Suarez who has proved something of a revelation and is already looking a bargain at the price of £22 million. This summer Dalglish has chosen to stay closer to home with his signings and although Stewart Downing, Jordan Henderson and Charlie Adam are not the kind of names to striker fear into Europe's elite the Merseysiders have every right to believe that a return to the Champions League is a realistic target for the season. Having excelled in their first taste with Europe's elite Harry Redknapp's Tottenham found the dual tasks of competing with the very best in midweek and maintaining a challenge on the domestic front too much to handle and ended up having to settle for a place in the Europa League by finishing fifth. Redknapp, usually so active in the transfer market, has bullishly rejected Chelsea's advances towards Modric but with time running out and neither club willing to budge he will be braced for ever more desperate measures as Chelsea aim to bolster their squad. Redknapp being Redknapp will surely have contingency plans in place should he lose the vivacious Croatian and if there's one place to be on the eve of August 31^st then it's surely White Hart Lane.

Of the clubs hoping to threaten the supremacy of the coterie quickly becoming known as the Big Six only Sunderland have shown any real ambition in improving on last year's performances. The loss of Darren Bent saw Steve Bruce's men go into freefall having at one point looked odds on to secure a European spot and with Danny Welbeck returning to his parent club, Manchester United, it was up to Bruce to begin something of an overhaul at the Wearside club. Having brought in enough players to field an entire new starting eleven his main challenge will be ensuring harmony and unity in the dressing room. Everton who have so often relied upon David Moyes to work the oracle with little or no resources are once again entering a new season without any notable new recruits and you have to wonder just how long Moyes can continue to deliver this level of consistency under such trying circumstances. Aston Villa, so often the League's underachievers, looked like a team heading in the right direction towards the tail end of last season. In Darren Bent they had one of the League's most reliable goalscorers and a promising young squad looked ready to blossom together once the right man could be found to lead them. It's fair to say that most Villa fans didn't consider Alex McCleish to be that man but when have the fan's opinions ever been considered? The sales of wingers Ashley Young and Stewart Downing did little to appease the grumbling masses but the astute snaring of Charles N'Zogbia and Shay Given means that already Villa look to be in a position where manager and support can pull in the same direction.

Every Premier League season has a crisis club and this year that unwanted title looks like heading to the North East and Newcastle in particular. With home favourite, Andy Carroll, long departed and the funds for that transfer seemingly vanished the Geordie's must have thought things couldn't have gotten any worse. Wrong. The sale of captain Kevin Nolan to Championship side West Ham United was galling enough but as Luis Enrique and Joey Barton look set to follow him out the door it's hard to imagine anything other than a relegation battle for the Tynesiders. Alongside them are likely to be the usual suspects with both Wigan and Wolves preparing themselves for another hard year of scrapping tooth and nail for every available point. Ordinarily the promoted clubs are predicted to have a brief stay in the top flight but this season QPR will hope to buck that trend given the way they swept all before them in the Championship. Holding on to Adel Taarabt will be crucial to any success the one time founder members of the Premier League will have but most fans will be glad to see the return of one of English football's most atmospheric grounds, Loftus Road, if nothing else. Joining them from the Championship are Norwich City, another Premier League founder member, and first timers Swansea City. With squads consisting of players largely untried at this level it could be a long hard season for two clubs who pride themselves on playing the game in the right way, they would do well to take heed of Blackpool's example who also boasted such purist beliefs.

And what of the rest? The clubs who may occasionally flirt will relegation throughout the season and at their most giddy moments believe Europe is a certainty. Fulham will continue to be the League's most inoffensive team and more than likely blitz the opposition at home while meekly surrendering on their travels. West Brom look poised to do the unthinkable and establish themselves as a Premier League club following years of occasional visits, with a manager well versed in controlling mid size teams and a forward line looking increasingly menacing following Shane Long's arrival things are looking rosy at the Hawthorns. Stoke are the antithesis of Fulham in that barely a week goes by without someone complaining about the over eagerness of Tony Pulis' men, this is unlikely to change this season and The Brittania will continue to be a visit endured rather than enjoyed. Bolton Wanderers, under Owen Coyle, have undergone something of a transformation in recent years and now exhibit the kind of football implausible under Big Sam's reign. The big fear for Wanderers at this moment in time must be holding onto a manager whose stock has risen immeasurably over the past twelve months. Blackburn Rovers have reverted to type following a spell when bids for the likes of Ronaldinho had us all guffawing in disbelief and signings more in keeping with a club of their stature should ensure another season of mid table security for the Lancashire side.

So there you have it a season which promises much and one that Sky will have you believe will be the bestest most exciting one ever is almost upon us. Despite proclaiming throughout the summer that I for one wasn't really looking forward to it all that much and I could take it or leave it, I now have that giddy feeling in the pit of my stomach which can only mean one thing, the roller coaster is about to start all over again. Whatever does happen I can assure you that when I read back on this article come the middle of May I will have a wry smile as each and every prediction contained within will in all likelihood have proven way wide of the mark. But when all's said and done isn't that why we love the game?

My Premier League table for 2011/12

1. Manchester United

2. Manchester City

3. Chelsea

4. Liverpool

5. Arsenal 

6. Tottenham

7. Sunderland

8. West Bromich Albion

9. Stoke City

10. Aston Villa

11. Bolton

12. Blackburn Rovers

13. Queens Park Rangers

14. Everton

15. Fulham

16. Norwich City

17. Wolves

18. Newcastle United

19. Swansea City

20. Wigan Athletic

Pitiful punditry points to pressing problems

...............just who will replace the doyens of the game when they hang up their mic's?

A recurring theme amongst the footballing media today is the concern about the lack of young talent coming through in the English game, journalists decry the dearth of homegrown players lining up for the top Premier league clubs on a weekly basis, and in the process fret about the knock on effect to their national team. Such is the level of disquiet through all avenues of association football, that Sepp Blatter and his wise cronies have implemented a new 25 man squad system which nobody really understands, but it's purpose appears to enforce and encourage managers to promote young players to the first team squad, in favour of splashing the cash on Eastern European misfits with a penchant for late night revelry and a dubious notion of what being 'loyal to the cause'entails. This is all well and good and I for one welcome this new ruling despite it's obvious flaws, but in my opinion there is a far more worrying issue affecting football today and it's one that can't be rectified by Blatter, Platini or any of the bigwigs in the halls of the governing bodies, forget about the young footballers for a second, of far more pressing concern is the gradual degradation in the quality of football punditry and this is an issue which will I believe will be much harder to resolve.

Now that football saturates our screens, airwaves, monitors and newspapers on an almost unrelenting basis it's become easier and easier to become an 'expert' on the game, no matter that your career consisted of a little less than one hundred top flight games at some mediocre clubs where you were the most mediocre of players (yes Jason Cundy I am talking about you) matters not, the only qualification you need to make it as pundit nowadays is to be besotted with the sound of your own voice and to spout opinions which contradict themselves almost before they've left your mouth. Of course characters like Cundy are only a minor source of irritation as they reside firmly in the Championship level of punditry, despite their continual striving for promotion to the big leagues alongside such luminaries like Andy Gray, Alan Hansen and our own quite inimitable Eamon Dunphy. The aforementioned trio are probably the most viewed exponents of this most dubious of talents, and with that airtime comes a presumed gravitas which is all too apparent in their lyrical waxings, but as the mainstay at each of their respective broadcasters they have, somewhat begrudgingly on my part anyway, earned whatever kudos they think they have and are the lesser of many evils in the world of the pundit.

Here in Ireland we are fortunate, or misfortunate whatever way you wish to look at it, to have the bolshie trio of Giles, Brady and Dunphy (with the occasional appearance from pugnacious channel hopping Scot, Graeme Souness) polluting and in the same instance, enlightening our minds, with a brand of football punditry which is as far removed from the fare offered across the water as is humanely possible. But just as we worry about who will replace the likes of Dunne, Given and Keane when they finally call it a day on the field, the same applies to those who offer insight and drama before, during and after the real action takes place. Giles has begun to resemble a mummified corpse and can barely string more than a couple of sentences together these days without losing his train of thought and seeking help from the ever patronising Brady, if Eamon Dunphy were to slip into full on dementia it's debatable as to whether the viewers would notice the difference, but love him or loathe him it'll be a sad day when he's finally carted off the screen kicking and screaming to anyone in earshot that 'Ronaldo is nothing only a tramp'. Of the mainstays Brady is the only one who's not of a pensionable age, but I can't imagine him being there without the other two as in truth his main role is to act as peacemaker and play devil's advocate whenever possible. Then you have the enigma that is Bill O'Herlihy who's plays a role similar to a holding midfield player, prodding and probing and doing the dirty work whilst going almost unnoticed, like many of the greats his loss would only be felt after he'd gone.

So who does that leave? Waiting patiently in the sidelines for the chance to get promoted to the big stage are the likes of Ronnie 'Am I a scouser or am I a Dub' Whelan, Kenny 'Eyebrows' Cunningham, Ray 'I was an incredibly chirpy player but I'm the most miserable pundit known to man' Houghton and Trevor 'I'm clearly bald but at least I can grow a goatee' Steven. This is far from a stellar cast and it's clear that if football punditry is a squad game then RTE will struggle once the season hits the hard winter months. Whelan is fairly amicable and talks a lot without really saying anything, but it's nigh on impossible to listen to him without marvelling at the wonder that is his accent, from Dublin to Liverpool and back again all in the space of a few seconds, great stuff. Cunningham is clearly deranged and looks like someone who's attended one media seminar too many, next time he's on, mute the tv and watch him, it looks for all the world like he's threatening to eviscerate the person he's speaking to as his eyebrows dance merrily around his forehead, lunatic. Houghton should come with a health warning for depressed people as he can manage to turn even the most exciting of games into something akin to the most torturous of ordeals, it's unproven as to whether suicide rates go up during Houghton's air time but I believe it to be true. Trevor Steven's appointment was a misguided attempt to bring a bit of panache to the panel, the bigwigs at RTE must have looked at his CV and seen his time spent with Marseille as a clear sign of a cultured man who would bring an air of calm, authority to proceedings. What we've got instead is a mosquito brained imbecile who rarely, if ever, says anything of note. However, hope is not completely lost, as amidst this gaggle of misfits is a ray of light which comes in the guise of Richie Sadlier. Aged just 31, and having being forced to quit the game at a young age due to injury, Sadlier has gone on to form an embryonic career in the media which has culminated in him making occasional appearances on some of RTE's football presentations. From the off it's been clear that Sadlier is not your ordinary retired footballer, and it's a joy to watch his insightful and in depth analysis on the game, and all done without the need to resort to the insincere tones of rapture favoured by his English equivalent Jamie Redknapp. Sadly the talents of this young man are made all the more evident by their rarity, and to look at the current crop of Irish players on the cusp of retirement and therefore potential candidates for the world of punditry, doesn't leave you feeling too confident. You'll notice that I have chosen to completely overlook the artisans plying their trade on second rate broadcasters TV3 and Setanta, this is mainly due to the fact that anybody willing to pay the likes of Trevor Welch and Pat Dolan to ruin our lives is worthy of nothing but utter disdain and apathy.

In England however, there is a more competitive nature to the battle of the broadcasters, even though Sky quite clearly are the biggest draw, although this is more due to them flexing their financial muscles than anything to do with the quality of their coverage. Sky's head honcho is of course the detestable Andy Gray. Such is this man's high regard for himself, he is quite happy to host a Sunday evening show called 'The Last Word', which as the title suggests is the last and therefore presumably the definitive word on all the weekends action. The fact that Gray hosts this show with his sycophantic sidekick Richard Keyes means that he has free rein to spout his theories unchallenged and will in essence always get the last word, clever thinking it has to be said. He has also seized the opportunity to bore us even more with the return of Sky's Monday Night Football, which consists of Gray playing with his modernised subbuteo set while Keyes oohs and aahs in the background. Gray firmly believes that each and everyone of his opinions is pure, unrefined ambrosia and we, the viewers, should consider ourselves grateful for the chance to hear them, if there was an award for smuggest, patronising buffoon on TV, then Andy Gray would win it year in year out. Sadly it's debatable as to whether he's even the worst pundit on Sky, yes step forward Jamie 'Skinny tie, shiny suit' Redknapp, never has a man spoke so much and said so little. Redknapp is the equivalent of a tiny, yapping dog that never shuts up and constantly nips at your ankles without ever actually biting you, his opinions veer from left to right as he babbles incessantly on and by the time he runs out of steam he's left with a blank expression on his face as he, and we both, wonder what the fuck he's just been on about. Sky have a large coterie of pundits whom they can call on, depending on whichever game they're screening, but aside from an occasional Phil Thompson rant on Soccer Satruday, the chances of ever witnessing a heated debate on the channel are as remote as Andy Gray admitting he's wrong about something.

The poor relations of broadcasting in England are the once mighty BBC and it's gimmicky, quirky rival ITV. The BBC was once a byword for all things quality but in terms of their football coverage at least, this mantle is gradually slipping away. Old experienced heads Alan Hansen and Mark Lawrenson have become so complacent in their position on the sofa opposite Gary Lineker that they may aswell be reading from an autocue, it's as if they're still patrolling the back line for the all conquering Liverpool 80's side, as they just go through the motions on a weekly basis barely breaking sweat. When the third cog in the wheel is the monosyllabic, dullard Alan Shearer then it's easy to see why Hansen and Lawro give off an air of total disinterest and boredom. But just as Richie Sadlier offer a shimmer of hope on RTE, so the BBC have their own bright, young talent willing to shake things up a bit. Robbie Savage was, and still is in fact, one of the most regularly goaded and taunted players to grace the modern era, his shock of blonde flowing hair makes him instantly recognisable on the field and his reckless, and often feckless, nature only add to his notoriety. But get him in the studio and suddenly this headless chicken of a football player is transformed into an eloquent and strong willed individual, who's about as shy in giving his opinions as he is in going into tackles, whether he'll manage to maintain this manner of punditry without upsetting someone higher up is debatable, but if he does fall foul to his paymasters at the BBC then it'll only be a matter of time before someone else picks him up given his unique talents in front of the camera. ITV are, and always have been, something of a joke when it comes to football punditry, given the fact that they spend the majority of their air time taking breaks it's a wonder why they bother even having anyone in the studio to be honest, they've recently taken to doing pitchside analysis which is quite a clever cost cutting exercise from their point of view. When their pundits do get a couple of minutes to hurriedly run through the events of the game it's usually Andy Townsend and Gareth Southgate who are charged with the task, is it really necessary to give an opinion on the respective merits of these two hapless oafs?

So now you can understand it's quite clear to see that while we're all worrying about the future of the game and the influx of foreigners ruining the opportunites of young homegrown players, the real problem that we should all be pondering is where the new, bright, articulate pundits are going to come from? Watch any post match interview after a Premier League game and you're likely to be swimming in a pool of 'Y'know's', 'likes', 'the lads', 'sort ofs', and various other catchphrases which will consist of 98% of the actual words spoken by the interviewee, rendering the whole process pointless. The recent interview with Danny Murphy where he aired his views without fear of censure or remit was a breath of fresh air and reminded us that not all footballers are semi literate, unschooled mercenaries without an original opinion to call their own. But as the game continues to grow to an almost sickening level of media coverage worldwide, it's clear that more and more ex-pro's are going to jump on the gravy train and give their tuppence worth regardless of whether they're qualified to do so or whether we want to hear them or not. I for one, can't wait.