Bernie, It’s a Bore

Mano y mano

So. That was pretty bad.

That man won again. You know; the one with the annoying celebration. He won and he did it at quite probably the worst track F1 has ever raced at. Yes, even Indy.

Radio Killed.

Theres a serious, serious problem rocking offices all over the country. It’s horrible.

It will slowly kill each and every one of us. It’s killing me and half the office I work in. I’d bet it’s killing the other Future’sBleak-ers.

Through the Legs of Arrogance

The through-the-legs shot Murray has now pulled out in successive tournaments has made me realise something about the way I look at sport. Arrogance in sport is fine by me.

Providing I like you.

The Murray shots made me think “Enjoyable.” but it was pegged back by a “bit harsh, though.” Then again,

Embarrassing bodies: Live from the clinic

Embarrassing Bodies – Live from the mortification of my sofa. Not so catchy is it. Or maybe it is. Depending on your ailment of course.

Don’t get me wrong, I love it – tuning in every week to see all (literally) manner of so-called ‘embarrassing’ problems.

A Senna Alonso Love Affair

I remember vividly the first moment F1 came into my conscience – the Brazilian GP in 1991 – I was 5 years old. Ayrton Senna had won and my Dad (usually a calm man) was up on his feet applauding the genius of the world’s greatest ever racing driver. As you may have seen in the recent movie “Senna”, this victory was remarkable as it was his first ever win on home soil and he had to drive the last few laps with his car stuck in 6^th gear. The effort involved must have been immense and when Senna won, he promptly passed out. I remember seeing the pain on his face and joy unconfined in the stands.

Easy, Paul

I don’t know if I’ll ever trust Paul Lambert again.

We all know he’s secretive to say the least about his transfer plans and activities, but this has taken the biscuit. Most of us have given up trying to second guess his next move in the market, but for him to have started lying to us, it’s a slippery slope you know, Oh Great One.

The signing of De Laet was finalised last week after rumours appeared then appeared to disappear that he was on his way. But he’s here. On loan. Loan. That same thing Lambert said he wouldn’t be looking at until he’s bought all he wanted or officially failed to coax here.

Tsk.

Roeder would never have done such a thing. He definitely wouldn’t have had the gall to sign someone who has a reputation of being a handy, versatile player after being on loan elsewhere. And he definitely wouldn’t have signed someone who- I reckon- could be playing for a future somewhere away from Old Trafford.

Take me back to the good old days of Omar Koroma joining and leaving within minutes but his parent club still allowing us, ever so kindly, to continue to pay his wages (and repeat for Troy Archibald-Henville) if you would.

You’re on thin ice, Paul. Any more of these loan signings- and lest we forget you’ve got history in this market- and you might just keep us up.

Do you really want to keep pulling away from managers of old and cement yourself in the history of this place?

I’d keep it up if so.

Charmed

That just ain’t bright, is it now?

The Suffolk equivalent of the Pinkun, the Greenun launched this bright idea. As if the rubbish pun after rubbish  pun wasn’t enough.

Marshal Madness

Well wasn’t that an interesting few weeks for all involved in motorsport.

We’ve had Bahrain on, then off, then TBA, then finally off again once the egg had found its way to Jean Todt’s face. Undermined in the public eye in your first year. That’s how to set your stall out, never fear though,  you know you’ve always got the prancing horse.

Then we had an interesting week for marshals. The best of the best were obviously in France, ducking and diving from Audi parts but doing grand ol’jobs. As you’d expect.

The rest, were slipping, sliding, air-kicking and falling their way round F1 cars in Montreal. The warning signs were there, Vettel’s trip to the Wall of Champions was made even more enjoyable by the marshal tumbling a few feet down to the tarmac. (Obviously they were both fine, thankfully.)

Hendo, Jones and Johnson

Who’d have thought being born on this here island can be worth so much.

Nigh-on £40million was spent on two (that’s two) players, neither of whom can even drink alcohol in America. Neither of whom would cost a combined £10million if they had been born anywhere but here.

But, if you can afford it, why not.

Obviously Liverpool and Manyoo have paid for more than just their abilities now. Buying a 19/20 year-old is a long-term investment, especially if they’re obviously talented like messrs Jones and Henderson. But if you look at the players on the continent going for similar prices, the value for money certainly ain’t here.

How Confusing

Some people are rather easy to confuse.

Norwich’s transfer policy of get in quick, get in good is refreshing (not the confusing part, hold fire), finding Antoine Sibierski’s big bald head gleaming up from the bottom of the transfer window barrel seems a long way in the past. We find ourselves only just in June with offers already on the table.

Indeed one’s already in the door.

But back to people being confused. This Pinkun headline.