Afternoon:
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If Harry's not game, then his number's up
Today's release of Football Manager 2010 marks a thrilling development in the nerdsome world of the computer game. In a stunt cunningly modelled on the golden tickets in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, a single copy of the game will apparently come with Harry Redknapp's "personal phone number" hidden within it. The Willy Wonka of White Hart Lane will thenceforth be available "24/7", so the press release insists, to offer expert advice. We cannot wait to read a report of how Harry rejoiced at being woken at 3.30am on a matchday to debate selling the CGI David Bentley to Scunthorpe for a little under a tenner. If, on the other hand, the victorious Charlie should hear a sleepy Harry mutter "You're not the police, you say? In that case, sod off and let me kip", breach of contract proceedings will be strongly indicated.
Redknapp behind the fall in Roman's empire
If anyone must win this dubious prize, please God it's Roman Pavlyuchenko, because this seems the disaffected Spurs striker's best hope of resuming communications with his gaffer. Currently, the two are not getting on, according to Roman's agent, Oleg Artemov, who says his client's poor form is due not to lack of
match practice, but “psychological problems” occasioned by Harry's lack of faith. That's helpful, isn't it? When you're desperate for a new club, what a boon to hear your agent say you're playing appallingly not because of lack of fitness, which can be put right in a fortnight; but underlying mental frailty, which cannot.
R.E.S.P.E.C.T, find out what it means, Fergie
Sir Alex Ferguson's epiphany about referees, as evidenced by his support for Gary Neville's sending off at Barnsley, may have come too late to avoid punishment over that slanderous attack on Alan Wiley's fitness. But it's important the authorities target the penalty towards rehabilitatation. Recalling the ignorance he displayed after Sunday's loss at Anfield, in wrongly blaming Andre Marriner for not dismissing Jamie Carragher, the solution must be the educative tactic police forces sometimes use with speeders. Rather than ban him for a number of matches, in other words, the claret-cheeked old
horror should be sent on a two-day course, in a community centre on the outskirts of Reading, to be refreshed about the basic laws of the game. A few hours with a decent tutor, and he need never show himself up like this again.
Tim needs to get dirty
Quite a week for tennis's image, with Andre Agassi's confession about crystal meth and Serena Williams dwelling on the drive-by shooting of her sister. Here in Blighty, alas, the game is still the hostage of the gin'n'Jag home counties middle class, so this seems the right moment for an emergency rebranding. Would it hurt Tim Henman to invent a lost weekend in a rural Oxfordshire opium den or Jo Durie to reflect on ram-raiding missions on Bristol's leading off-licences? If Sue Barker's relationship with Cliff Richard remains the most shameful episode in its history, English tennis hasn't a prayer of broadening its appeal.
