Punch drunk

I’M normally quite a calm person, but the Olympic Games has got me fighting mad.
The Frankie Gavin weight farce; Bradley Saunders’ statement that he is glad he lost so that he could go home (this from an “amateur” who has received around £140,000 in tax-payers’ money to help get him to Beijing) and the over-fussy referees are bad enough.
Now there is talk of women boxing at the Olympics ..... and don’t even get me started on that computer scoring system. It's enough to drive you to drink.
It must be disheartening for boxers, a real body blow, when they land half-a-dozen good punches and get back to the corner to find it’s still a 0-0 draw.
The scoring works like this. Three of the five judges need to press their buttons at the same time for a punch to register.
Body shots don’t seem to count - even though you can knock your man out with a body punch - and combinations are just too quick to register.
To score you apparently need to throw single jabs or, maybe, an upper-cut will count .....if you are lucky.The computer scoring system was introduced to stop biased judging. Cheating basically.
But a judge can, in theory, just delay pressing his button for a fraction of a second. That way the punch will not score - but it will still register on his scorecard at the end of the bout.
For me, it has not solved the problem. It has simply ruined amateur boxing as a sport.
Still, I suppose it’s better than Judo.......

Desperate decision

ENGLAND have made the worst possible choice in Kevin Pietersen to replace Michael Vaughan as England skipper.
A bold decision or one born out of desperation?
And, if he was the only choice as skipper, what does that say about the current state of English cricket?
In case you haven’t noticed from his accent - like Tony Greig before him - he’s South African.
Yes, he’s got massive ability....but he’s also got an ego to match.
He has been at the top for three years now. And there is no doubting that he is an immensely gifted, exciting player.
But is he a team player? Does he bat for the team or himself?
You only need to look at what happened at Edgbaston to answer that question.
Instead of getting his head down and helping England to victory he tried to hit a spinner over the top to reach his century with a six. For me, that was a turning point in the match. He let the side down. Simple as that.
Ok, he’s averaging almost 55 this summer. But isn’t there is a real danger that the heavy burden of captaincy will affect his batting?
Look what has happened to Vaughan, Hussain and, to a lesser extent, Atherton, in the past.
Clearly, Pietersen has the natural ability to become one of the best batsmen in the world. But what qualifies him to become England skipper? How many sides has he captained?
And how long before he chucks his dummy - and kit - out of the window and heads for India?

Over and out

IT’S hard to fathom the thinking behind Darren Pattinson’s call up for the second Test with South Africa.
This is a man who has not even served his apprenticeship with Notts yet. He’s almost 30 (the selectors are obviously planning for the future!) and only has 11 first-class appearances to his name.
If it's part of some great master-plan, I can't see it. And it’s hardly a case of horses-for-courses, is it? If the selectors wanted a man for that job, Matthew Hoggard was the obvious choice for Headingley.
It was a big ask for Pattinson - who will be replaced by county team-mate Ryan Sidebottom - and it was no surprise that he was taken off after bowling only three overs on the first day. Perhaps the occasion got to him. But he showed his worth by making the breakthrough on Saturday, trapping Amla lbw for 38.
And you can forget all the talk of Pattinson being an Aussie. He was born in Grimsby and that’s good enough for me.
Anyway, I didn’t see many complaining when Nasser Hussain (born in India) and Tony Greig (born in South Africa) were captaining England.
Or when Graeme Hick (born in Rhodesia) was playing in 65 Tests - plus 120 ODI’s.
And what about Allan Lamb (born in South Africa), Andrew Strauss (born Johannesburg) or Tim Ambrose (born Australia)? And how many of the Barmy Army would advocate kicking Kevin Pietersen out and sending him in to bat for his native country instead?
You can also forget the rubbish rumour that this is some kind of Notts conspiracy theory, to weaken them further so that they don’t win anything this season.
If that was the case, Chris Read - the best wicket-keeper in the country - would now be keeping wicket to Pattinson, Flintoff and co instead of that ‘batting sensation’ Ambrose - wouldn’t he?

Remember Tom Finney?

I DIDN’T know whether to laugh or cry. Poor old, long-suffering Ronaldo a slave?
A slave on a miserly £120,000 a week at Manchester United ..... for playing football. You poor thing.
Just what planet is this young man on?
I suppose Sir Alex twisted your arm up your back and gave you Chinese burns until you finally cracked under torture and signed that new five-year contract?
Listen. If Sir Alex wants to make me his slave on £120,000 a week, I’d even throw in the ironing and cleaning for free.
It’s a good job Ronaldo wasn’t around in the 1920’s when the maximum wage was only £9. Footballers then had little rights. Yes, they were, in effect, slaves.
Ronaldo would do well to take a leaf out of Tom Finney's book. He worked as a plumber to supplement the £14 a week he earned at Preston. Finney went on to win 76 England caps and scored 30 goals. He retired in 1960 with a persistent groin injury after bagging 187 goals in 433 appearances for Preston.
He never won the championship or any other trophy as far as I can recall. Yet he was remarkably loyal and even rejected an offer from Palermo that included a £10,000 signing-on fee - a fortune way back in 1952.
It all changed, of course, in the 1960’s when Fulham paid the great Johnny Haynes £100-a-week and George Eastham won the right to move from Newcastle to Arsenal.
I’m still not sure about Bosman. But I am sure that things have got completely out of hand.
The amount of money being paid to Premiership footballers today is obscene.
Wayne Rooney, for instance, at 22-years-of-age, is reported to have got through a staggering £5m last year. To be fair, he did get married! He spent £3m on just 50 guests, who were flown in by five private jets, for his wedding to childhood sweetheart Coleen McLoughlin.
Her dress alone is rumoured to have cost up to £200,000, while £100,000 went up in smoke for the must-have fireworks.
Then there was Westlife. And don’t even get me started on the £100,000 his-and-hers rings they took back to their Cheshire mansion.
Good job young Wayne picks up around 130 grand a week from Man Utd come rain or shine then, isn’t it?
Although the pair - said to be worth £35m - did cop a few bob from selling the rights to the wedding on the Italian Riviera.
OK! magazine apparently paid £2.5m for exclusive access to the big day. Yes, the world has gone mad.
Like I said, with half the world starving, obscene is the word.

Jim’ll fix it

I MUST admit I shed a tear or two this morning when I found out that the dear old Queen couldn’t afford to decorate Buckingham Palace.
She’s apparently got leaky roofs, deadly asbestos, damaged guttering and dicky electrics and hasn’t touched a paint brush since 1948. (Should have got Rolf Harris on the job instead of wasting his talents on that royal portrait).
If Jimmy Savile (OBE, KCSG) is not free to fix it, there’s always Bob the Builder...... or Tommy Walsh might fancy a knighthood in exchange or doing a bit of labouring on the side.
After all, plenty have been knighted for doing less. Now then, now then.
Apparently things have got so bad that a piece of crumbling masonry just missed Princess Anne (oh well, can’t win them all).
The latest estimate is that it’s going to take £32m to fix - and that’s rising as fast as the damp.
It appears that even the Royals are feeling the effects of the credit crunch.
And it must be especially hard for Her Majesty to make ends meet. After all, she is down to her last £320m.
And I feel really guilty about it. You see, I only paid 66p towards the upkeep of the Royal Family last year.
And, when you consider that they spent over £6m just on travel last year (including £22,849) on a helicopter to take the Queen to the Kentucky Derby), the £40m "donated" by the nation doesn’t stretch very far, dies it?
The Royal Train alone sets us back over £26,000 every time it leaves the sidings.
Of course we can’t expect the head of state to sit on the tube. At 82, she has to travel in dignity and comfort.
But did our thrifty monarch really need to spend £1,018 an hour on a helicopter ride?
Now this may be classed as treason and I may end up in the Tower (how much is needed to repair that, by the way?) But why doesn’t Her Maj flog an old master or two; or the retail park near Windsor Castle that the Crown Estate has just bought for £92m? (Always wondered what the Q in B&Q stood for).
That would buy a few rolls of woodchip and a gallon or two of emulsion, wouldn’t it?

Dedicated follower of fashion

NOW I’m no fashion guru. You can write what I know about Sir Paul Smith’s latest creations on a pin head.
And as someone who used to wear dessert boots, bell bottoms and an ankle-length leather trench coat, I’m probably the last person on the planet to criticise anyone.
But Royal Ascot? You tell me, what is all that about?
I must admit, I never did get Mrs Gertrude “Ascot hats” Shilling. But at least she was a character.
She was a colourful, eccentric who “amused” racegoers for years with the extravagant confections she perched on her head. (A giant daisy, a dartboard, a 6ft-high giraffe and teacup were some of her more sober creations born in collaboration with son David).
At Royal Ascot, the horse racing is only half the fun. The best bit is watching the ladies trying to outdo each other in the "fashion" stakes. It reached a new high - or is it a new low? - this year.
Once upon a time, a bare-legged lady or a gentleman without a hat would have caused consternation at Royal Ascot. Today the strict rules have been relaxed - you can now chat on mobile phones and even, god forbid, chew gum.
But to gain entry to the hallowed Royal enclosure - where divorcées were once barred from attending - racegoers must be recommended by someone who is already on the list.
Men are required to wear morning suit, national dress or uniform - brown shoes are banned, and top hats are still the order of the day. Although an estimated £100m is gambled during the event, there are no bookies in the Royal Enclosure. Convicted criminals and undischarged bankrupts remain barred from the inner sanctum.
It’s not quite so bad at the equally-snobby, strawberry-mountain, champagne-guzzling Wimbledon. But there has again been more attention being paid to what the likes of the Williams sisters and the lovely, leggy Miss Sharapova are wearing on court than how their backhand is working.
Serena W certainly double faulted when she appeared wearing a white trench coat over her tennis dress. While Miss Sharapova’s “tuxedo look” inspired by menswear certainly had the paparazzi in a lather.
She sported a cream jacket and long trousers...... before stripping down to play.
And now she's out. For once, I'm speechless.

Fab finish

SHED no tears for Italy. They got what they deserved in Euro 2008 - absolutely nothing.
They showed no desire to win against Spain from the word go and often packed nine men behind the ball - leaving Luca Toni as the lone “striker.”
They had obviously decided that Toni had little or no chance of scoring - after only one shot on target in 14 attempts. Defensively negative, they were happy to play in their own half.
They also went through their full repertoire of obnoxious party tricks (most of which were missed by referee Fandel). Diving in the box, shirt tugging, elbowing and faking injury. Frustrating the Spaniards and hoping to catch them on the break.
Not that Italy had the concession on diving. David Villa tested the referee’s patience once too often after going down in a heap, again, and was rightly booked. More yellow cards should have been brandished. It is the only way to stop the man handling, holding a shirt pulling at corners that have been a feature of the tournament so far.
The studio experts refused to accept that Italy were playing for penalties and extra time. But, bearing in mind that Spain had lost three previous tournaments - all on June 22 - on penalties, I’m not so sure.This should have been a cracker, according to the pre-match hype. Instead it was a tedious, terminal bore which did nothing for the reputations of many of the so called world-class players on view.
I excuse Senna, the 32-year-old Brazilian, who had an outstanding game. He kept it simple. And isn't that how football should be played?
As the game dragged on, I had the feeling that Italy would fiddle their way into the final again. But at least justice was done when Cesc Fabregas ended Spain’s penalty shoot-out jinx and sent them packing. Good riddance.
I just wish they would take Ronaldo, Tim Henman and Joey Barton with them.

Doing a van Hooijdonk

SIR Alex can throw as many tea cups and hairdryers as he likes.
He can scream “tap-up” and cry foul until he goes blue in the face.... again. It wont make any difference in the long run.
Because, if Cristiano Ronaldo has made up his mind to join Real Madrid - and it seems that he has - then he will go. Full stop.
Forget that he is still on a four-year contract worth £120,000 a week. That wont be worth the paper it’s written on.
Forget that United insist he’s not for sale at any price.
And don’t believe for a minute the empty threat that United will let the show pony rot in the reserve for a year rather than let him move to Spain.
There is a limit to how much you can fine a player; how much “gardening leave” an employer can give an employee. And Ronaldo could argue, quite rightly, that playing the stiffs would devalue him and harm his international career.And, if push comes to shove, he can always do a ‘van Hooijdonk’ and go on strike.
It’s not often that a player gets the better of Sir Alex. Just ask Ruud van Nistelrooy.
But Ronaldo has been crafty. He’s been playing some neat one-twos with the world’s press since leaving for Euro 2008. He’s dropped a hint here, a whisper there - without ever really saying he wants a transfer. And this adds up to the fact that the dirty deal with Real is already done and dusted.
It must be driving Sir Alex mad. Because, for once, there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.
But I, for one, will not shed any tears when Ronaldo departs for Spain.
Yes, he’s just had a phenomenal season. Yes, he’s scored some incredible goals. But I wont miss his blatant diving; his arm-waving and bleating at decisions; in fact any of his show-pony antics.
Not for one minute. I just hope he takes Tim Henman and Joey Barton with him.

Les miserables

FRANCE must go back to the drawing board after a miserable Euro 2008 campaign.
‘Teary’ Henry looked a forlorn figure, during and after the 2-0 defeat by Italy. Why did he ever leave Arsenal?
A penalty and an own goal, typical Italy as they came back from the brink in the group of death.
Talk of Holland fielding a reserve side and stitching Donadoni’s men up was irrelevant. Let’s face it. France were a miserable shambles and so was the team selection. What was Raymond Domenech thinking?
Talking of miserable, apparently Tiger Woods wasn't faking it at the Battle of Wounded Knee?
It now looks like sour grapes when Retief Goosen questioned whether the limping, grimacing Woods was faking it and just playing to the crowd for sympathy in the US Open.
Woods - who now needs another operation on his troublesome knee - appeared to wince with pain when he hit a bad shot. But he somehow staged a miraculous recovery when he hit a good ‘un.
OK, playing 91 holes is demanding enough with two good legs, never mind a handicap. And everyone knows that a wounded tiger is infinitely more dangerous.
But I don’t really care either way. Tiger Woods (legend that he is) is a pain. Full stop.
Crying with pain! Laughing all the way to the bank more like.
Talking of sour grapes, surprisingly there weren’t any from New Zealand following Kevin Pieterson’s "unsporting" switch-hitting tactics.
Even Scott Syris, victim of the two massive sixes, admired Pieterson’s audacity.
Of course, there were the immediate calls to have the shot outlawed. After all, it’s just not cricket, is it old boy?
How can a captain set a field for a bowler when the batsman suddenly changes his stance and hits the ball to the opposite side of the ground?
Let’s face it. The reverse sweep shot has been around for 50 years, Pietersen has merely taken it to another level.
It’s a great Twenty20 shot which can produce runs. But it can also be your downfall (remember Mike Gatting in the 1987 World Cup?)
Bowlers - like Muttiah Muralitharan - use every means possible to get batsmen out. Isn’t it only right that the willow wielders have the chance to get their own back?

Fatal attraction

ONE of the scariest things I’ve ever done in sport is hurtling round the TT course at the Isle of Man. It was a pure adrenaline-rush, white-knuckle ride.
And I was ‘safe’ on four wheels - as opposed to two (well most of the time) - in the back of an old mini driven by a local lad.
The roads aren’t that great; there are sheep lurking on every bend and there is also the odd stone wall, fog and rain to contend with.
So anyone who does it for fun on two wheels - at average speeds of up 130pmh - has to have a wheel nut or two missing.
Mad or what?
A few years later I returned to the island with my two young sons - both brought up on a diet of speedway at Long Eaton - and they loved it. Standing on a bend, inches away from the action, they literally lapped it up....until a rider misjudged a bend and piled into the corner of a house.
For the TT comes at a heavy price. The sad fact is, that since the race started in 1911, over 200 riders and spectators have been killed. Talk about health and safety!
It’s carnage. It's also a fatal attraction and this year over 60,000 petrol heads will again line the 37.73-mile course.
And what draws them year after year? Speed.
In 1907 one Charlie Collier won the TT at an average speed of 36.21mph. Technology has now advanced so much that defending champion John McGuiness will hit 200mph on some stretches.
McGuiness, with 13 race wins to his credit, can overtake Mike Hailwood if he wins this year and will roar into second place on the all-time list behind the legendary Joey Dunlop.
McGuiness - married with a seven-year-old - says there is no better feeling in the world than standing on the winner’s rostrum.
But is it really worth the risk?

The Puppet Master

WHERE were you the moment Anelka missed the last penalty and handed the Champions League final to Man United?
Chances are you weren’t in the Olympic Luzhniki Stadium in Russia.
With so few tickets going to the real fans (the rest were shared between world string pullers like Michel Platini and Sepp Blatter, corporate sponsors and ‘friends’ of the organisers) I consoled myself with watching the drama unfold in the Fastnet bar in old Albufeira in Portugal (that's the nice bit that isn't a cross between Skeggy and the Golden Mile at Blackpool).
The barman, by the way, was a dead ringer for Cristiano Ronaldo. Can't remember his name, I think it began with an F.
My better half had treated me to a week in the Algarve to celebrate our wedding anniversary. So she wasn’t too thrilled that our last night was spent watching football perched on an uncomfortably-high stool in a packed bar.
I appeased her with a large Sex on the Beach ........ that's a cocktail that consists of a vodka (a lot), peach brandy, pineapple and orange juice and a dash of something red. Can't remember it's name, I think it began with a G.
It also contains a fair chunk of fruit salad and a sparkler - which actually produced more sparks than the first half of the big match.
How could Chelsea, with their vast resources, play Essien at full-back? with so many talented individuals in their side, the Blues just didn't look like a team.
It was actually a relief when the annoying Drogba, who spends more time on the floor than on his feet, was sent off. And how much did the Blues waste on that equally annoying Malouda? Rooney was also anonymous apart from a couple of brief flashes. Surely he wasn't fit?
Every bar and cafe seemed to have installed a flat screen for the big occasion.
But long before the match dragged into extra time, the fans had become as tired and tearful as the players. Many had drifted away and found something better to occupy their time - like eating sardines.
Outside in the main square, a man dangling a couple of puppets on strings was drawing a bigger crowd than two of England’s finest as they headed for that dramatic penalty shoot-out.
Can't remember his name. I think it began with a B!

Not like the telly

I got my first taste of live Cage Fighting in Bilborough on Saturday night.
It’s not like the telly.
And it’s certainly a far cry from Georges St. Pierre v Matt Serra, who were performing in front of 21,390 screaming fans in Montreal’s Bell Centre.
Nevertheless, with names like Ian ‘M-16’ Butlin, Matt ‘12 Gauge’ Thorpe and Mark ‘Manslaughter’ O’Toole you expect some fireworks.
But there was nearly as much action in the long queue to get into Harvey Hadden, which resulted in the show starting almost an hour late.
When the real action did finally get underway, it was all a bit of an anti-climax.
Sean Folan and Brent Crawley did a lot of hugging - granted it was manly hugging - and there was a lot of rolling about on the floor.
Blink and you missed Butlin v the German mosquito. It was all over in 25 seconds.
Because of the late start, many fans had gone home and missed top-of-the-bill Dan Hardy demolish ex-Marine Chad Reiner at around 11pm. That was brutal. So was Pete McGurk, while I liked the look of Dean Amasinger and Lee Livingstone. These lads from Team Rough House ain't half bad mum.
The fans were a mixed bunch - young and old. Blue inked as well as blue rinsed, which was good to see. Bit like the old wrestling days (but look what happened to wrestling).
The atmos was ok. The sound system was a bit scrambled, but re-playing the action on the big screens was a good idea.
But £5 for a programme?

Rest in Peace

April 15, 1989 is a date I will never forget. I want to forget ....but I can’t.
It is hard to believe that 19 years have elapsed since the Hillsborough disaster which claimed the lives of 96 Liverpool fans, many of them youngsters.
Because the memories of that day, and the images, are as fresh in my mind as if it were yesterday.
I’d taken a day off to go to the ill-fated FA Cup semi-final against Forest with three neighbours, Martin, Jim and Chris. We’d manage to get tickets for the must-see game via a contact at the City Ground.
We were all in high spirits - after a few pints in a nearby pub - as we strolled along in the sun. We laughed and joked and soaked up the atmosphere as we took our places on the terraces. Chants of You’ll Never Walk Alone echoed around the ground as we laughed at the Liverpool fans trying to climb out of the Leppings Lane end opposite us.
We thought they were trying to get into the seats for free. Little did we know they were desperately fighting for their lives.
Six minutes later the bodies of fans, blue in the face, were being laid out on the pitch just yards from us as the fans sang on.
The body of a small boy lay under a blanket.
Life ebbed away from a middle-aged fan as a paramedic thumped his chest in an effort to keep his heart pumping.
A few feet away two fans were fighting on the terraces. Didn’t they know people were dying out there?
We left. We phoned our wives to tell them we were safe. But they were the only words spoken on the way home.
We were all numb; in a state of shock, I suppose.
We never spoke of Hillsborough again.
No-one has even been held accountable for the tragedy, which is a tragedy in itself.
Lord Justice Taylor, in his report on the disaster, ruled that the ground was unsafe and criticised the way the police handled things.
Even today, 19 years on, parents who lost children and still light candles for them, feel a massive sense of injustice. And I, for one, don’t blame them.
There are plans to mark the 20th anniversary of the tragedy with a charity match between Celtic and Liverpool. Why?
RIP.

Radical changes needed

Friday is a landmark day in the history of cricket.
Because, which ever way you look at it, professional cricket will never be the same after the Royal Challengers take on Knight Riders in the Indian Premier League in Bangalore.
It’s been billed as Rahul Dravid v Sourav Ganguly. But it is much more than that. It’s a challenge to world order, because the global ‘game’ of cricket is never going to be the same again.
The top earners in the IPL, like Mahendra Singh Dhoni and Andrew Symonds, will earn more than £500,000 for just six weeks ‘work’. Crazy, isn’t it?
England players on contract - like Kevin Pietersen and Ryan Sidebottom - are currently the only international stars not allowed to sign up. Only one current England player, Hampshire all-rounder Dimitri Mascarenhas, has opted to take the Indian rupee so far.
But it would be a mistake to dismiss the IPL as a sideshow as English cricket lurches into another sleepy summer of ‘action’.
Many think the challenge from the two Indian competitions must be met head-on with radical counter-proposals, otherwise county cricket will start to unravel. Let’s face it. County cricket is not what it was, is it? Hardly anyone watches it for a start. It’s full of foreign players barring the way for up and coming English kids. And what’s that Kolpack all about?
Despite all the tinkering it’s the speeded up, fan-friendly Twenty20 that’s really caught the imagination.
The solution could be the multi-million pound English version of the IPL suggested by Texan billionaire Allen Stanford. Stanford, who has bankrolled Twenty20 cricket in the Caribbean, is currently having talks with the England and Wales Cricket Board.
Players are bound to be jealous when they see the amount of money their peers are earning. Last season Pietersen was complaining he had played too much cricket; that he was burnt out. Only a few weeks ago he said he wasn’t interested in the IPL, he wanted to concentrate on England. Now, shock, horror, he appears to have changed his stance. He now says it is “ridiculous” England stars are not allowed to play.
There are rumours that some could refuse to sign their contracts when they come up for renewal in September. Do that and we are in danger of killing the goose that laid the golden egg and going down the football route of player power. I doubt there will be another Kerry Packer-type breakaway tournament. But you never know!

The worst team ever

It is very hard to admit to being a Derby County fan today. A supporter of the worst Premiership team in history.
For the Rams hit an all-time low in the abject 6-0 home defeat by Aston Villa on Saturday.
You would have thought that now relegation was assured the pressure was off the players. That they would go out play with more freedom, with more pride and give the long-suffering fans something positive to cheer for a change.
Think again.
What they served up for the magnificent crowd of 33,036 was totally unacceptable.
Embarrassing, heartless, horrible were some of the words used to describe them - and they came from the manager, Paul Jewell.
Tell me how is he still in a job with a record of P20 L15 D5?
He says his team isn’t good enough - well he bought half of them didn’t he? He says they lack a leader. Isn’t that what he brought in the hated Savage for?
The sad facts are that Derby wasted £6.5m on two strikers who have struggled to hit a barn door. They have managed only two wins in 38 games this season - and one of them was on penalties. They have scored only 16 Premiership goals and leaked 74 for a record goal difference of -58.
Yet, amazingly, Derby fans have already bought 19,000 season-tickets for next season.
It was sad to see fans leaving after only half an hour on Saturday. Those that stayed at least managed to have a laugh and a joke, though I fear their black humour and Mexican waves were lost on most of the players.
It’s all well and good Jewell saying he’s planning for next season - backed by the club’s new American investors.
But if he’s not careful, Derby will find themselves going down the same road as Leeds and Forest. And that’s certainly no laughing matter.

Ripping Yarn

LONG-suffering Stags fans could be forgiven for thinking April Fools Day had arrived a tad early.
John Batchelor’s plan to re-name the Stags as Harchester United - after the fictitious club in the Sky show Dream Team - has been greeted locally by anger and incredulity in equal measure.
Incredibly, he insists Harchester can be promoted more commercially than Mansfield.
Unbelievably, he claims that he wants to use actors from the show.
And his comments that he doesn’t care a jot what the fans think, have also gone down like the proverbial balloons of lead.
If he fails with the Stags, there’s a rumour he’s going turn his attention to Gretna - as if they haven’t got enough troubles of their own.
Sadly, it’s not an early April Fool. It’s certainly no laughing matter if you are a Stags fan, but it is a Ripping Yarn worthy of Michael Palin at his best.
Forget Harchester, Mr Batchelor. Surely Barnstoneworth Stags are infinitely more marketable? You would attract all the old Monty Python fans to Meadow Lane (it make sense to play all your home games there as 3,317 turned up last week and less than 3,000 watched the crunch relegation match with Wrexham on Tuesday. Stags seem to play better away from Field Mill anyway).
Just think of it, You can bring the legendary Boldy Davitt out of retirement in place of Balding against Bayern Munich and Real Madrid in that pre-season tournament you’re planning.
With ‘Golden Gordon’ Ottershaw as manager and ‘Golden Balls’ David Beckham as skipper, you could field a back-line of Hagerty (F), Hagerty (R), John-Baptiste, McIntyre and Treadmore. Dream team, or what?