Where Have All The Bad Men Gone?

During a rusty recovery run this morning, under cold blue skies and into a chilling south westerly wind that's gathering pace by the day, I had time to consider some cold, hard facts.

Last week we (that is, all right-thinking chaps with an interest in football and ninety-eight percent of the heterosexual female population) mourned the loss from the public spotlight of The Special One. The latest news emanating from the damp dark shadows of White Hart Lane suggests that, yes, anyone will do just so long as they can offload Tony Soprano. I like Martin Jol. He looks like he could wrestle grizzly bears with his gnarled, bare-knuckle boxer's hands, has the mean bulldog jaw and overhanging, furrowed brow of a bullet-toothed killer - or is it Spike from Tom & Jerry? - yet frequently displays wit, charm and intellect under seemingly intollerable pressure and ribald speculation.

Yesterday Radio 5Live's breakfast wags asked listeners to suggest what Chelski would be without Mourinho. They offered examples such as Peaches without cream, Morcombe without Wise but, as usual, it was the ironic, slightly bitter wit of a true football fan that stole the plaudits. Chelsea without Mourinho, he pondered, would be like . . . Spurs.

If Stan Collimore, a man who seems to have discovered kudos amongst football pundits a bit like Archimedes sussing out displacement by slipping in the bath, is right, Jol's departure is a matter of when, not if. It'll be another nail in the coffin of colourful post-match interviews. Old Puce Face only gives them to a favoured few (and those I've seen have been horribly balanced and reflective of late) and Ian Holloway just doesn't get the airtime he richly deserves.

There is one section of the global media rubbing their hands at the talent appearing on the market; Hollywood. To be more precise, the Broccoli family and their ilk. Surely you can picture the scene? The Portugeezer sat in an impossibly high-backed armchair, gloved hands stroking an evil-looking cat. The mighty bulk of the simmering Dutchman looming from the shadows, piano wire stretched between those great ham fists. There'll be no shortage of villains for Daniel Craig to pursue.

I chugged home in a creditable 44:17, the homeward leg aided by a firm shove in the back from the sou'wester, sun strong on my face. Not too many running opportunities on the horizon, so hopefully these miles will stand me in good stead for a bit.

Comments

[Roads]

That's classic writing, Sweder.

The Radio Five listener got it spot on about Chelsea without Jose, as did you in your wonderful comparison of Archimedes and Stan Collymore (surely the first and only time in the history of the English language that those two names will ever be paired convincingly within the same piece).

Meanwhile, for all the temporary pleasure experienced last week in seeing arrogance meet its fall, I agree that Mourinho is a serious loss to the Premiership.

We need characters like The Special One.

Because for all the ahem ... 'understated elegance' of Alan Curbishley's haut couture on MOTD2, an Umbro track suit will never ever match up to the classic chic of Armani.

As indeed I've been trying to tell you, for all these years ...

[Andy]

And thanks to the rare reference to the great Ian "Ollie" Holloway.

Who needs Armani anyway? Some of us look splendid whatever we wear:

Ollie

[sweder]

Any excuse to allow you to post that photo one more time ;)
Unconnected though I may have been to Ollie's clubs I find him a breath of fresh air. He's a man who believes that political correctness has something to do with the way an MP enters parliament. Eamon Holmes interviews him occasionally on his Saturday morning radio show. If Holloway's on it's a highlight.

I think all the years of guzzling strong ale and abusing my ears with louod music are taking their toll. Collymore, featured on Sport On Five's Monday Night Club (alongside no less a visionary than the recently-retired Thing From Tring), seems to be making rather a lot of sense these days. Just so long as he's kept apart from alcohol, knuckle-dusters and blond TV presenters . . .

[Andy]

Oh, Collymore has always been a lucid pundit. The problem he's had is that the BBC get inundated with protests (or certainly used to) every time he was on. Fallout from the Ulrika Johnsson spat. The thing I admire most about him is that he's never mealy-mouthed or self-pitying when asked about his failings. I've heard him discuss his problems several times, and he always makes them sound strangely fascinating. His last big comeback was ruined by the 'dogging' exposé. Seems like he's back yet again, and I for one am delighted.

And as an aside, we shouldn't forget that when he was minded, he was a sensational footballer too.