Morning:
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As Much as anyone else, I love the little rituals that give the day its structure. The early morning mug of tea; the 20 minutes at the dartboard to put off starting work; the early evening rant about the Eggheads on BBC2; the dinner row with the missus about whose tone of voice started it; nipping out in the car for a spot of ram-raiding, crossword, bath and bed . . . these are the rites that give human existence its shape and contentment.
But there is one ritual I have come to hate. Every weekday at 2pm I nip out for the Evening Standard, hoping against hope that this will be the day. And at 2.04pm I walk home deflated by the absence of the back page headline: "Comolli Sacked".
Damien Comolli has been strongly rumoured to be departing as Tottenham's "sporting director", and his survival is a mystery when his discernible achievement has been orchestrating the planet's worst transfer policy since New York investor Hyram J Sticklebacker III rang his broker last Friday to say "I'm worried about those gold shares. Sell 'em and buy AIG instead".
I will not drone on again about the insanity that saw Spurs retain only Darren Bent of the four strikers with whom they began last season, thus enabling the catastrophic start to this one that an ugly, edgy win over Polish opponents in the UEFA Cup last night did nothing to disguise.
Nor will I mention such imports as Younes Kabul, Kevin Prince Boateng and Ricardo Rocha. Suffice it to say that, if Comolli ever became a museum's director of art, he could walk into Sotheby's with a blank cheque, and walk out with a receipt for the £32million he bid for the security guard's chair.
For now he remains a sporting director . . . a modern breed of whom Arsene Wenger once said that the day one walked in at Arsenal would be the day before he walked out. Great managers achieve their greatness because they buy players in accordance with their vision for the team. Whether Juande Ramos is one of those in the making we cannot tell yet, but if chairman Daniel Levy repeats the error yet again when he does fire Comolli, the Spaniard will have to prove it elsewhere.
I am, as you may know, very fond of Daniel. I cannot see his cute, pointy little head without smiling, and never forget his Cambridge First in Land Economy. He is a powerful mind who knows a hectare from an acreage, and when to sow wheat. He just has a blind spot about how to run a football club.
Here is surely his last chance to redeem himself. If and when Comolli goes, the attraction of employing another reliable transfer market operator from the ranks of sour old boys, such as Terry Venables or dear old George Graham, will be acute. Daniel could even be tempted to tap up newly-returned Chelsea stalwart Ray Wilkins, or more daringly still ask himself how busy Nick Leeson can possibly be these days. There are many things he might do, but the only one worth doing is nothing.
Dan, just accept that this sporting director lark is best left to the Italians, and free Ramos from the shackles of an eminence grise.
Leave him alone to mould his team for a few years, and see if he can't replicate his brilliance at Sevilla. Sack Comolli, Dan, and then show us the cleverness you once showed the Cambridge examiners by doing nothing at all.
Murray has little to worry about
Andy Murray had been anticipating the Davis Cup tie against Austria. "I'm confident I'll be able to handle the pressure," he said, and you must admire the laconic wit. After handling the heat of a ferocious Rafael Nadal comeback in the US Open semi-final, he thinks he can cope with a play-off to make the last 16 of a competition with half the relevance and public appeal of a dressage international against the top ranked clop-clop-clippety-cloppers from the Netherlands? Ya think?
Tennis is a rigidly individual sport in which, unlike golf, team events are a tiresome anachronism, and only the more demented home counties Come On Timmers will give the tie a passing glance.
So the last thing that should concern Murray, ironically or otherwise, is whether he can handle the pressure.
Simply turning up for this festival of time-wasting is more than anyone has the right to expect.
Unfunny Faldo's hamming it up as captain is difficult to swallow
When the Ryder Cup is over, Nick Faldo should check into a clinic for treatment for Mark Lawrenson Syndrome, the disorder defined by my psychiatric dictionary as "the delusion suffered by a legendary unamusing retired sportsman that he has the wit of Oscar Wilde".
Nick was diagnosed after winning the 1992 Open, when he thanked the press "from the heart of my bottom", and there appears to have been no improvement judging by his snide tone at this week's "Sandwichgate" press conference, named after his claim that the photographed initials on his piece of paper referred not to his initial pairings but golfers's requests for sandwiches. Oh dear.
He then unleashed such a barrage of unfunny put downs to innocuous enquiries that, regardless of the Ryder Cup result, he will be a loser.
If Europe win, the senior players will be credited for protecting the rookies from the captain's unwitting sabotage. If Europe lose to this nonentity-laden US side, Faldo will be forever styled as human history's worst captain since Bligh.
Whatever happens, his carefully constructed, postgolfing reputation as an ironic charmer is brown bread. I could dwell on the perils of hamming up an old beef with the media, and how making cheesy jokes on the verge of such a needle-laden contest is liable to land you in a pickle. But the truth about overegging the sandwich-filling gags is that it makes you look a witless oaf.
Blues defeat will leave United miles off the pace
It's all well and good going the extra mile for startling originality by calling the Premier League a marathon, and not a sprint, but even the early stages of marathons see runners fall irredeemably off the pace. This is the danger facing Manchester United. Should they lose on Sunday, United will trail Chelsea by nine points, a colossal deficit even with a game in hand.
Phil Scholari may have moaned after his Blues won Tuesday's Champions League tie by a distressingly narrow 4-0, but he is close to turning this title race into a procession.
Given Liverpool and Arsenal's record of flattering to deceive, and United's of accelerating after a sluggish start, the latter still look like the likeliest challengers. Even so, defeat on Sunday will leave Fergie looking like Paula Radcliffe in Beijing, plugging gamely on in a race he knows he cannot win.
Reader views (3)
have had season ticket since 1957 and if someone had told me in 1961 you will not win the league until at least 2010 I would never have believed it .I am in a quandry do I spend £1041 plus any increase next year or shall I watch my grandchildren play on a sunday instead I know which way I am veering at the moment come on Josh and Benny (they are 8 and 6)
- Alan Hammer, london n2 8hb, 22/09/2008 11:10
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I agree fully, Comolli is a joke, he must be a spy sent by Arsenal to destroy us.
Sack him & Ramos, is he Santini in disguise or Christain Gross with a toupee? Wake up Levy before its too late.
- Rob Hotspurs, South London, 22/09/2008 11:04
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'Dan, just accept that this sporting director lark is best left to the Italians, and free Ramos from the shackles of an eminence grise.'.......didn't Ramos work under a sporting director at Seville too????
- Michael Stiell, Manila, Philippines, 22/09/2008 08:29
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