All right chaps 'n lasses. This is it. Robbo's last ³ÉÈË¿ìÊÖ blog. It's been about nine years so summat had to give. There's a lot of people I'd like to thank and a few I'd like to smack with a hot parmo.
But it's not over. , only in a place where you work-shy scoundrels can't get it past your officee filters. I still expect your full attention.
Not least 'cos the final team to get promoted provides an opportunity for a truly gut-wrenchingly clichéd last effort as a Towering gave the Bluebirds a little Eyeful and will illuminate the top league after Holloway's bunch of donkeys (according to the bookies' pre-season odds) triumphed.
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OK. First of all, why do we need to spend a shedload of cash on
What are they going to do exactly? Flounce about being really flipping annoying. Couldn't we have just used
Incidentally, if there are some poor saps getting paid for dressing up as Wenlock and Mandeville, then can't we make some lunched-up, fizz-sorted, pin-striped city bankers do it while we toss IOUs at them or, even better, rotting fruit.
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It's not a good tale to tell the children, is it? I couldn't help thinking 'the baddies have won. Again.'
There'll be no Hollywood epic of the 2010 Cup Final, which is a shame, as there was enough in it for a damn fine script to emerge. Chelsea hit more bits of woodwork than an erratic carpenter in the first half. Saloman Hassungotta Kalou was back to his worst.
I sometimes think that a footballer's haircut is a good barometer of how well they think they're doing - and Kalou's 'I was run over by motorbike' look suggests self-confidence.
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Oops. Put the phone down, Wayne Bridge. Apparently ... Anyway, it looks like Fabio's only got three left-backs ahead of you, and every one of them could handle Aaron Lennon better than you could, mate.
Capello's no mug, mind. It looked like he was going to lose one creaking, one-paced and out-of-form centre-back but he's already drafted in an identikit replacement.
Fabio takes his job seriously. It seems he's been knocking on doors and pointing his in the direction of blokes who have long since turned their backs on an England shirt. Carragher heads the list.
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The words 'congratulations' and 'Chelsea' are as comfortable a pair of bedfellows as 'Cameron' and 'Clegg'.
with Dave as PM and Nick as deputy - and neither of them telling us owt... the Clam years. Clegg n Brown'd be the Clown years I suppose.
Any road, Chelsea. I was kind of expecting a nervy 1-0 with United thumping Stoke. But no such jangle for west London nerves.
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Well I can't help but feel
It's earned me a nice meal out for the wife and meself (if she lets us come of course) from the bookies. And to all them doubters who coughed up their beer through their nostrils when I tipped Spurs for fourth all them months back - well, bow down to a greater power.
Of course, it wasn't a snap judgement on my part. As with these blogs, it was thoroughly thought through. Outside of United and Chelsea, Redknapp had the best quartet of strikers in the division. There was evidence of a sterner spine in the side with Wilson Palacios in for the brave, willing, but aimless Didier Zokora.
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There'll be conspiracy theorists aplenty wondering quite how
Steven Gerrard looked like he might be reminding Chelsea of his ability to deliver a killer through ball (should he become available this summer) but the real reason for Liverpool's demise was simple: they're not very good.
I saw that banner depicting the heads of great Liverpool managers with Benitez in the frame too. But I can't see him staying - or Liverpool sticking with him. Rafa says that expectations were too high but then whose fault's that? He was the one who
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I'm Derek Robson. People call me Robbo. Legend has it I was raised in the furnace and smog of Teesside. Some might say I took the hard road. I like to tell folk I had trials for Middlesbrough, for Hartlepool and for burglary (not guilty). I've always loved sport. My job is to say it as I see it - whether it's in the bar of the Blue Bell or on this blog. You won't find me calling a spade a soil-redistribution implement.
