Definitely not about the England job

If you pick a person for a job based on the court of public opinion, it's a bad selection.
If you pick a person for a job based on that person's courting of press opinion, it's a bad selection.
If you pick a person for a job based on the opinion of Rio Ferdinand, Wayne Rooney and Alan Shearer, it's a bad selection.
If you pick a person for a job without addressing the glaring issues that lie at levels below that role, it's a pointless appointment.
If you expect someone to achieve different results with the same tools as the previous person in that same role, you are an optimist at best.
If you're bemoaning the lack of suitable candidates for a role from a specific part of the world, you might want to look at the reasons for that and see if there's anything you can do about it.
If you disregard candidates based on where they come from, you're an idiot who deserves to fail.
If you cower before other organisations and press opinion and take the short-term view whilst disregarding the opportunity to implement a lasting solution to decades-old problems, the issue is not with the appointment you're about to make. The issue lies with you.
If you can undermine a supremely well-qualified person who is willing to miss his own son's wedding to fulfil his contractual obligations, then yours is your little fiefdom and everything that's in it. And what is more, you'll have ruined any chance of making some good out of this whole sorry mess.

With apologies to Kipling

Words on the role of captaincy in football

It doesn't fucking matter

Poetry corner: More lines on Ancelotti at PSG

So Carlo is in the place

to give the Parisians a new face

And to get the girls to drop their kecks

He's going to go and sign Dave Becks

 

And there's bound to be a different offer

To which a certain striker may be proffered

And to put more noses out of joint

Drogba's coming to prove a point

 

So all is well in with the riches

At the stately Parc des Princes*

With a side you could pick on football manager for the Atari

This is actually real life for the Qataris

* - Yes, we know. Artistic license yeah

Poetry corner: Lines on the PSG coaching job

So farewell then Antoine Kombouaré.
You may have been a decent player,
You may have done well at Valenciennes,
But you were never the 'name' the Qataris wanted.
Let's face it;
Your goose was cooked as soon as the sale was complete.
Sacked
With your team top of the league.
That sucks.

So hello Carlo Ancelotti
And your permanently raised eyebrow.
You now have to make PSG play sexy football
Which isn't something you've ever done elsewhere.
It may be handy to learn the Arabic
Word for 'catenaccio'.
You seem a likeable chap
But it'll still be funny
If you don't win anything.
Sorry about that.

On sectarianism in Scottish football

Two men enter a shop. Guns are on display all around in perspex cabinets. The windows have thick bars across them. One of the men approaches the counter.
"Err... Cannae have a bullet pal?"
"What? You want one bullet?"
"Aye. How much?"
"Well they tend to come in boxes of varying sizes, not singly. Anyway, what sort of gun is it for?"
"Err.. One that gaes bang when you pull the whatsit. What sort d'you think? You some sort of numpty?"
"No sir. What calibre?"
"Ah, it's bloody great. Very high calibre indeed I'd have said. The very finest calibre known to man."
"You don't own a gun at all, do you?"
"Course I do. Why would I want a bullet if I havnae a gun?"
"And why do you want just one bullet?"
A pause.
"Look, are you gonna gi' us one or no?"
The shopkeeper reaches under the desk and switches off the cameras. He takes one 9mm bullet from a loose pack and places it on the counter.
"Gi' us five quid, take that, fuck off and never come back in here again."



A few doors down, the men enter a post office.
"Can I have an envelope?"
"Just one?"
"Aye, how much?"
"Well, what size sir?"
"Jaysus. Don't you fucking start. I had enough trouble wi' the lad down the road. Just gi' us a fucking envelope eh?"
"The smallest pack we do is twelve, standard letter size, for a quid sixty."
"Aye, OK. Gi' us that.
So, youse are some top post gadgie then eh?"
"I suppose so, sir, yes."
"And you know all the addresses round here?"
"Well, they're all in that big book over there. What of it?"
The man looks around, leans in conspiratorially.
"Gi' us Neil Lennon's eh?"

Our culture, our history

"Our culture,

Our history".

Coming over here

With their dual nationalities,

Playing our football,

Winning our trophies.

They'll never understand

Our culture,

Our history.

Liberté?

Egalité?

Fraternité?

Ca c'est votre culture,

votre histoire,

n'est pas?

The nation of Camus,

de Beauvoir and Sartre.

Of Dac, Spaak, Borrel,

Curie, Mandelbrot and Werner.

Thuram, Fontaine, Zidane

And, yes, Six, Giresse, Papin.

"Our culture,

Our history".

His racism.

France's shame.