Ref! On Rodgers and Newcastle

The candid thoughts of Premier League referee Colin Preece, as recorded by our eavesdropping mole in the Duck and Peasant.

 Referee

That’s right, lads, I had the privilege of being the ‘man in the middle’ as you put it, at the City of Manchester stadium for City’s demolition of Newcastle. To tell you the truth, when a game is as one-sided as that, the problem is to keep your concentration. If you’re a fair-minded person you want to see a balanced game. You don’t want to see anybody get whipped 6-1, and apart from anything else you worry that you’ve lost count.

Newcastle, I don’t know, they’ve just been left behind, haven’t they? In today’s technological terms they need to shut down and reboot. They’ve tried everything – they even tried Alan Shearer as manager a few years ago, just because the fans think he’s God. They had to appoint him and let him fail so they could move on, but where have they moved on to? I know somebody was bound to give Steve McClaren another chance in England, but that’s the problem with the Geordies, they’re too sentimental.

Only they would have persevered with John Carver as long as they did, purely because he’s an honest-to-goodness local boy, and when they finally saw sense, they give the job to a nice guy who has demonstrated repeatedly that he’s not going to be successful in English football.

And now the poor sod’s got the weirdest haircut in the Premier League, with that little tuft at the front. Used to be a quiff and you can tell he’s still proud of it, but it’s like a bird standing on the beach when the tide’s gone out.

Fair enough, Dave, his follicular problems have nothing to do with his ability as a manager, and he’s endured enough ridicule, but you can’t help noticing, can you?

So who’s next up there in Liverpool? People are talking about Jurgen Klopp, who’s regarded as a bit of a guru, plus we don’t know that much about him, which is always good when you’re speculating.

Sam Allardyce is available but you can’t have that. Cheers, Gary, I’ll have a black and tan. You’ll have to explain to the barman, cos he’s only a nipper. Half a draught Guinness topped up with a bottle of pale ale. And then you can watch while he makes a mess of it – see you in half an hour, mate.

No, I reckon they’re going to go for someone really unlikely. Baseball coach with transferrable skills. Sir Clive Woodward. Nigel Clough. Drew Barrymore. They’re desperate enough, Baz, yes – you’re on the ball tonight, what’s the matter?

Jose Mourinho? Stranger things have happened, but nothing as strange as that. Abramovich probably can’t believe what’s happening, but when he leaves the denial phase he’s going to do something, isn’t he? He’s ruthless – they have to be, shady characters like him.

You know what I reckon? He was having it off with the doctor, Eva Carneiro. Then he got tired of it and told Mourinho to get rid of her.

Like Bill Shankly said, Baz, the only thing that surprises me is that I can be surprised.

 

Ref! The enigma that is Liverpool

The candid thoughts of Premier League referee Colin Preece, as recorded by our eavesdropping mole in the Duck and Peasant.

 Referee

What do I think of Liverpool, Dave? In light of the fact I did their game against Villa, you mean? Well, it was thoroughly enjoyable from my point of view, but that’s not what you’re asking, is it? You’re asking if, in my professional opinion, Brendan Rodgers has got it right.

The answer is, as so often, circumstances have helped him. I thought he – or his transfer committee – had a terrible summer. First it’s all about Danny Ings. He snaps him up as soon as Burnley are relegated. Indecent haste, mate. Embarrassing.

But okay, he’s got Ings and this is going to be the answer to Liverpool’s prayers. Then he buys Benteke, who is a more high-profile player and a different kettle of fish altogether. Big target man, a throwback to John Toshack, almost, and everybody’s saying they’ll have to build the team around him.

Then Daniel Sturridge comes back from injury and Benteke does a hamstring and it’s all about Sturridge. And him and Ings do look more like it, you have to admit.

But all the time, guys, all the time, there’s little Philippe Coutinho, who’s their real diamond, and he must be thinking ‘Okay, Brendan, sort it out and get the team to catch up with me’, cos he’s your Brazilian Mata, he’s as good as Hazard, but he’s like a beautiful carrot that’s already grown and ready to dig while they’re still spreading manure on the rest of the garden.

That, Baz, is called mixing metaphors. It’s what happens when you’ve got a football brain like the thoughts of Chairman Mao meets the mind of Brian Clough.

Cheers, Gary, pint of that milky stuff we invented last week: Guinness and Baileys. Gaileys, yes, Dave, good one. Well, a bit… you know, but we’re all secure in our sexuality, I think.

At the back, mate? Liverpool, you mean? The jury is out, Dave. He’s got lots of options but they’re so unconvincing the jury is not just out but has gone for a pint, had a few scotches and is now hanging around the only remaining chip shop in the area, in search of a bit of relief from the tedium.

Manual relief, yes, Baz, maybe, but someone else’s manual.

They’re a funny bunch, though, Liverpool. They’ve been hopeless for years apart from that little Suarez interlude, ever since Fergie did what he set out to do and knocked them off their effing perch, but they don’t see it. They still think it’s a blip. But manager after manager buys ten cheap shirts instead of one beautiful one and wonders why they shrink in the wash.

Yes, Baz, minced menopause again. Go back to sleep, for Clough’s sake.