Lame Excuses

Merde! Zut alors et Sacre Blue... nous somme discoverez le lamest excuse pour a wantaway that we’ve heard in all our years.

Step forward talented but moody French Newcastle midfielder Charles N'Zogbia whose apparently spat his dummy and vowed never to play for the Toon again simply because poor old Joe Kinnear misspoke in an interview and called him ‘Charles Insomnia.’

Now advancing age makes fools of us all and St Bobby of Robson delivered more than the occasional ‘speaking malfunction’ and would no doubt have dubbed the Frenchman ‘Charles Petunia’, ‘Charles Amnesia or our tres favourite ‘Charles Pneumonia’.

But N'Zogbia’s huffiness over such an imagined sleight is as transparent as Madonna’s g-string and his excuses as lame as a three legged donkey.

Begone sir we say and never trouble our holy Premiership again!

Elsewhere: Our new favourite waste of time? Well has to be the Graun’s phenomenal new Chalkboard, where you can see just how fit/lazy/profligate your favourite Premiership stars in stunning new levels of minute detail.

Bon chance!

Rafa’s rants: Part deux

Oh dear, we take a day off to do some cheeky freelance and look what happens, Senor Benitez is off on one again, after Wigan's Mido snatched a late equalizer in last night’s ‘crazy’ encounter to deny the Reds three points.

The source of Rafa’s ire this time? Well actually he prefers not to say. No seriously, he really doesn’t want to tell us.

“I prefer not to say too much but I am not happy with a lot of things... I am disappointed with a number of things but no, the Wigan approach I will not talk about them".

"It has happened in the last three games. They have something in common I don't like. I know why but I cannot say anything."

Mysterious, no? Something’s obviously bugging Rafa, but could it be? Suggestions in the comments below please.

But we say get it off your chest lad and damn the consequences. Joe Kinnear was only fined £500 notes for calling Martin Atkinson a Mickey Mouse ref.

Invest a good couple of grand Rafa and really let rip. It’ll do you the power of good!

Break in transmission

Our apols for our recent break in transmission but we were struck down by a dose of the creeping lurgey and we’re only just indicated blindly and screamed headlong back into traffic as we set course on the road to Wellville.

Not that we’ve missed much as, while we were tucked up in bed strewing snot and coughing furballs, the weekend’s football was by all accounts the most boring FA Cup fourth round in living memory.

Elsewhere around the spurting multiverse: Becks apparently wants to stay at Milan and they might even cough up to the Galaxy to keep him. All to the good say we, though harsh on LA. Talking of the US, we must also give an honourable mensh to Sunday where our beloved Pittsburgh Steelers (the first team we saw play Yankee footy) are back in the Superbowl big time - going of a record fifth title and it’s live on BBC. Result! Go Steelers FTW! Erm... hm.

Finally important developments in the vexed question of the leadership of the ECB. Now any mate of Bozzer’s is usually guaranteed to be a oik of the first water, but Lord Marland has some intriguing ideas and most importantly, he’s come out in favour of a return to terrestrial Test screening.

With Culture Sec Andy Burnham also apparently keen to return them to Crown Jewel status, could we see an axis forming to return domestic Test cricket back to its rightful place on our TV screens?

We live in hope dear reader, we can but live in hope.

Westward ho!

We’re taking a break from our throbbing non-stop coverage of Manchester City’s ever decreasing shopping list today, to contemplate the great love of our life today. Yes you too Mrs Spurt (we’ll pay for that later), but of course we speak primarily of cricket, as our brave boys cry ‘windward ho' and land in the Caribbean

Now during our formative years, this would usually be the cue to load up the body bags, watch the vultures begin to circle and wait for Mike Gatting to land at Heathrow resembling a recently violated panda, as the formidable West Indies quicks feasted on the softer parts of our batsmen with an array of bouncers, quick balls and erm even quicker balls.

Nowadays of course it’s a different coconut of rum punch. The great West Indies sides are a fondly fading memory, the game is less of a unifying force in the islands and talented young Windies athletes look to basketball or other more US-centric sports to make their fame and especially fortune.

West Indies still have genuine stars like Chris Gayle and Shivnarine Chanderpaul and are decent enough at the shorter forms of the game. Yet England – with their greater overall firepower - should prevail in the Tests and it’s going to be a thorough and intriguing examination of Andrew 'Posh' Strauss’s new captaincy.

We’ve a good feeling about Strauss and back him to get the best out of the team, heal any rifts and unite them for the home series warm up to the all-important Ashes.

Just keep The Fred away from the sauce pedaloes.

The dream has died

We’re fresh back from a sojourn in the West Country today my lovely, so catching up on all the latest as Manchester City, the self-styled (and aren’t those words always written with malicious glee?) richest club in the world have gone from 100m wonders to Woolworth’s rejects in just under 24 hours.

So the dream has died and Kaka will not be gracing the Premiership. A shame really, but on the probability scale it ranks alongside Fergie admitting he was wrong, Andy Murray winning gracefully and Ferrari being penalised in an F1 championship, in the big bad list of things that are never likely to happen.

But what of the latest trouble at t’Middle Eastlands? Robinho’s alleged hissy fit and immediate retreat to spend more time with his family – what was that all about?

“Nothing to do with Kaka’ says Robinho, ‘Everything to do with Bellamy’ says the Spurt as we exclusive tipped on Monday (well sort of).

Seems the Milanese playmaker isn’t the only Brazilian fearing a midnight visit from the nine-iron wielding Welshman.

They call him the wanderer...

It’s Monday again – and you can tell it’s not exactly been a glittering galaxy of spurting entertainment over the weekend when the top story is Darren Bent’s last minute sitter in the Spurs v Pompey love in.

With such a lack of meaty spurting goodness to tuck into, we’re so short of material we could be a Hollywood starlet’s red carpet dress.

Fortunately swinging a five iron to the rescue comes news of Craig Bellamy’s impending transfer to middle Eastlands with Man City’s sultans of bling apparently offering 14million notes for the perpetually angry Welsh hitman’s services.

Bellamy’s a decent enough player on the pitch and scores a plenty, but off it, comes with so much baggage they’ll need a camel train to transport it up there.

A huge ‘I won’t play again’ sulk on Friday is the latest in a long line of career highlights which has encompassed a caution for common assault, abusive texts to Alan Shearer: “Your legs are gone. You're too old. You're too slow." (similar criticisms could made of his current MOTD performance) and ultimately trying to sink a putt into John Arne Risse’s cakehole.

Still, in a career which has previously spanned Norwich, Coventry, Newcastle, Celtic, Blackburn Liverpool, it’s never likely to be boring. Bellamy will probably do well under Sparky them being united by Taffdom, but future regimes? Who knows.

Anyway, one thing seldom mentioned in today’s coverage is how potential team mate Kaka will view the signing?

He won’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with a post-Stella Bellamy on the rampage and lining up to tee off his forehead.

Investigative Journalism

With the transfer window wide open, everyone’s looking for a bargain, a hitherto undiscovered footy genius to rescue the second half of their season and turn a fierce relegation battle into a surge for a European place.

Now not everyone’s got 130m Euro to spunk like Man City, but with agents’ phones glowing red hot, extensive scouting networks scouring the globe, YouTube signings and the eyes of the footy world on even 12 year old park players, it’s not so easy to track down a real bargain.

Certainly not for the Times hack who managed to name Masal Bugduv of Moldavia in his list of undiscovered footy superstars. Bugduv was down at number 30 but had been ‘linked to a move with Arsenal and plenty of other clubs’, so might have been worth a punt?

Just one problem? Bugduv really is undiscovered, as he doesn’t actually exist. Shit, we used to work on that site. Standards really must be slipping.

Anyway it got us thinking, if it’s good enough for The Times, it’s good enough for us, so here’s the Spurt’s guide to the top five hottest (and entirely fictional) undiscovered prospects on the footy scene today.

Enrinque Madeup
Paunchy Eritrean shot stopping keeper, who’s vast consumption of porridge beer has swollen him to such a size that he virtually fills the entire goal. Not so much the Cat, as the fat. Bargain at 6m.

Julio Explodio
Temperamental fleet footed Catalan winger who’s mazy dribbles and ability to hug the touchline are offset by his liability to self-combust at half time. Offers in the region of 2 million - comes with a free fire extinguisher.

Klaus Von Nephilim
Gloomy uncompromising German centre half, currently for turning out for Shalker 45. Highly unskilled clogger but real strength lies in man marking strikers and putting them off their game by convincing them of the essential existential bleakness of modern life. Will sign for biscuits.

Ricardo Forstrup
Diminutive Danish striker who’s so small he’s barely detectable to the naked eye. When defenders claim to have him in their pocket, quite often he literally is, springing out to score a surprise winner.

Hank Yank
Big hearted and buttocked midfield dynamo from the good ol’ US of A. Yank appears to have everything: silky ball skills, box to box coverage and the appropriate sized engine. Yet Yank hampered by a complete lack of understanding of the rules of the sport he calls, ‘soccer footyball’. Test Harvard Yarvard’s resolve with bids in excess of 150k.

In the Kaka...

It’s Wednesday, a quiet day in the spurting galaxy and with no shocks in last night’s FA cup, precious few in prospect tonight and even Gazza behaving himself for once, we raise our eyes to the heavens and implore the spurting gods ‘FFS give us something to work with here’.

Fortunately salvation comes in the form of the transfer merry-go-round and the quite-simply-staggering prospect of Brazilian genius Kaka moving to Man City for the bargain price of 100m Euro or Quid, with wages of around 500k a week.

We’re as divided as a pair of post-op co-joined twins. As well as having a vaguely amusing name (if you’re American and like scatological references) Kaka’s a bone fide genius and we’d absolutely love to see him play over here.

Yet that’s over double Zidane’s record breaking price and surely some kind of sanity must prevail? If City managed to pull this off we’ll have to invent a new term for nouveau riche. Mucho riche anyone?

Kind of puts the whole Roque Santa Cruz saga into perspective too.

Perhaps sanity will prevail though as Kaka’s agent Diogo Kotscho as well as slipping in a sly dig in at fellow Brazilian, told Corriere dello Sport "He [Kaka] would never do something like Robinho, who, just to earn more, contented himself with a solution that was not a winning one."

We’re also starting our shameless ‘come and get me plea’ award of the day which has to go to Newcastle’s moody Frenchy Charles N’Zogbia who told a French sports daily. “The club want to sell some players, so why not me? Lyon, make a move!"

Classy Charles, very classy.

Hayden hangs up his bat (and not just outside off-stump)

It’s Day 174 in the World of Spurt house and John is in the diary room knocking one out – another blog entry that is.

Now we occasionally take a modicum of stick for our barely suppressed Aussie bashing/baiting, but we guarantee you we’re as fair-minded, racially-sensitive and well balanced as any member of the British Royal family...

Erm ...anyway moving swiftly on, slightly sad news today with the announcement of the retirement of Matt ‘Matty’ Hayden, the Aussie opener who’s finally hung up his bat.

It’s sad news indeed mainly because it’ll make the Aussie team that little bit stronger for the Ashes this summer.

Still, even we have to admit albeit reluctantly that Hayden was a great player in his time, averaging over 50 in Tests, World Record holder until Lara retook it and the only time we’ve seen him tamed was the 2005 Ashes series, when The Fred had him firmly in his pocket.

But averaging just over 16 in the last two series, it was definitely time for Hayden to fall on his sword, probably before he was pushed.

A difficult bloke to like though and it seems doubtful he’ll be remembered with any true affection outside of Oz.

Put it this way we’d much rather go out on the lash with Warney of an evening, but Hayden’s also the last in the line of that unbreakable series of Aussie titans: Langer, Gilchrist, Warne, McGrath.

There’s only little Ricky left now... and for that the rest of the cricket world will be truly thankful.

Rafa’s Rants part 1

In what’s sure to just the first instalment of an ongoing series, today we pay tribute to Liverpool boss Rafa ‘Town Crier’ Benitez, who’s launched a pre-emptive strike against Fergie and his Red Devil minions in the very first chapter of The Gospel According To Rafa.

The substance we won’t get into, although it has to be said Fergie does appear to enjoy a certain protected heritage status when it comes to pronouncements of his own - and you wouldn't be human if you didn't have a sly giggle at the notion of man-marking the United staff in the tunnel.

Would you favour man to man or zonal Rafa?

Yet it’s the style which concerns us most. Rafa’s undoubtedly been niggled by a few of Fergie’s canny ‘casual’ asides, but why choose last week to retaliate when the Scousers were sitting pretty at the top of the table?

Just like the US, we’re all for launching a pre-emptive strike, ie. get your retaliation in before the other guy even knows he’s at war, but on this occasion has Rafa gone way too early?

In other tales of dark doings we have to pose the question is Maradona a secret Fergie agent?

Apparently the pint-sized Argentinean supremo interrupted his orgy of cocaine and hookers as he lit a cigar at the Radisson Edwardian in Manc-town, causing the entire hotel including the Chelsea squad to be rousted out and evacuated in the early-ish hours of Sunday morning.

Hardly the best preparation for their 3-0 shooing by United yesterday.

Perhaps there’s something in Rafa’s rants after all?

Reflections

When the highway code advises ‘check your mirrors’, it doesn’t mean just gaze at your reflection…

The Bright Side

So it all turned out to be true then - with both captain and coach gone on the same day leaving English cricket looking about as organised as a surrealist's free form art installation .

You can choose your own label from the following catalogue of disaster: debacle, farce, cock-up, or perhaps all three simultaneously, but no-one's emerged looking good from the process*: Pietersen for his wilfull petulance, Moores for his inability to handle the game at the highest level and the ECB for putting the ferrets down English cricket's trousers and then acting surprised when they end up fighting tooth and nail near some vitally important regions.

Still our naturally sunny and not at all in any way misanthropic life-hating outlook forces us to consider the bright side.

What do you mean, what bright side? Read on grasshopper to discover,

One: If it were done, 'tis well it were done quickly. Better that this happens now, than a month before the ashes . At least it will give Strauss two short series to stamp his authority on the team. It'll also mean we might get decent coach, rather than someone who's simply got the relevant ECB badges.

Two: It proves that cricket matters. It was the lead item on pretty much every form of media yesterday and shows just how integral cricket remains to the English psyche. On a day when myriad other stories from the sorry world vied for our attention, Cricket grabbed all the headlines, set the national news agenda and remains as important as ever.

For that small comfort at least, we should be truly thankful.

* Apart from Andrew Strauss who should have been made England skipper after the domestic Pakistan series.

England Woeful England

Widely previewed over the past 24 hours, the axe has finally fallen and if reports across the mainstream sites are to be believed, both England captain Kevin ‘KP’ Pietersen and coach Peter Moores have fallen on their collective swords this lunchtime.

It’s still unclear whether Pietersen has gone or has threatened to go if Moores stays – the only quote comes from Sky news who managed to ambush KP on his mobile but all he’d say was: "I am not in a fit state to talk."

Uneasy is the head that wears the crown and all that... Moores we were expecting, but KP as well? From the reports, it looks like he gambled on a ‘back me, sack him’ power play with the board that has spectacularly failed, but it would be pretty damn shocking to see a self-inflicted ousting only five months after he’d assumed the captaincy.

If it’s all true and that’s yet to be determined, with various sites currently getting splinters in their arse through all their fence sitting, the whole sorry spectacle has been thoroughly unedifying as watching Mike Gatting going on a rampage in your local cake shop. To misquote dear old Oscar, to lose either captain or coach may be regarded as misfortunate but to lose both at the same time? That looks like sheer carelessness.

Whatever way things pan out, KP has come out of it smelling of ordure. This is not so much washing your dirty laundry in public, as soiling it, flaunting it and then offering to rub the remains into the noses of random passers-by.

Even the news that Australia has had its worst ever sporting year is scant consolation on this darkest of days.

The Window

It’s Day Two in the tortuous return to working life and despite a bit of competition from the Aussie v SAF series, it’s the transfer window – which has not so much opened as been kicked asunder – which is occupying our thoughts.

Clubs and bosses may openly say they dread it, but players and agents love it, especially the current winter one where allegedly ‘no significant business is done’.

Bollocks.

For fans, the winter window is a boon during the dark days of January when thoughts turn to the loaded revolver in the drawer and the rest of the year stretches out before you like a prison sentence.

This is a time when you positively need those outrageous rumours, public hissy fits and the perennial ‘who’s going to gamble on Michael Owen’ sweepstake.

Okay so far it’s been pretty predictable stuff: with Lassan Diarra off to Real and Jermain freshly confirmed back at Spurs this lunchtime, but the rest of the month promises lots of interest and a fair amount of intrigue.

Carlos Tevez has openly rebelled at Man Utd (inadvisable), Andrei Arshavin threatening to buy out his contract to join Arsenal (huh?) and Man City have been linked to every single existing footballer on Earth (even our agent has been approached, but we’ve turned it down).

So here’s to the window: relish it, celebrate it, savour every column inch and outrageous rumour no matter how improbable. It is the stuff of which dreams (and nightmares) are made.

Happy new year, Heureux Nouvelle Année, feliz año Nuevo ...and all that innit?

And boooom! Just like a Stevie G head butt we’re back! It’s the cold hard shell shock of the first day back at the coalface and we’re still reeling after eleven days of late rising, slack living, alcoholic indulgence and Christmas pudding overload.

Ah the true spirit of Christmas... How was it for you?

Still, during these long bleak dog days as the New Year slowly starts to form and come into focus, there’s been no lack of spurting action to get our teeth into.

The award for most surprising event goes to Stevie G for the ‘incident’ in the night club and kidding aside, we hope the Scouse and England midfield dynamo gets away Scot-free. Some players undoubtedly deserve to be on the wrong end of a nightclub shooing, but not Stevie G, who, is so virtuous we are told, he drops farts of the purest perfume.

Elsewhere, a splendid FA Cup third round threw up the usual shock and some little awe with self-styled ‘richest club in the world’ Man City falling on their arses to lowly Notts Forest. That played most mightily on our chuckle bone - hilarious.

Murky Ides of March doings in the world of cricket too with KP on the point of ousting Peter Moores from his position as England coach. It’s always dangerous to change horses mid-race, especially with the Ashes looming but better now we suppose than then.

Moores was a political appointment (the first fruit of the ECB’s Elite coaching program) but has never struck us as having the cojones. The tale of the tape does not lie and England have become measurably worse since Moore’s arrival.

Time to put him out to grass we say and our pick and first prediction of the NY is to draft in Dav Whatmore. He's big, he's not fashionable and he used to sport a hilarious moustache, but he always got the best out of any team he coached and we'll need that kind of grit for the Aussie showdown this summer.

Toodle pip!