Mourinho’s Magic door

An intriguing European night full of technical excellence, outstanding endeavour and tactical nuance, but enough of our Shrove Tuesday pancake session, we speak of course of the classic Inter v Man Utd game at the San Siro.

A great opening half from United, Inter back into it second half, chances on both sides and despite the dearth of goals a very entertaining game.

But of course the revelation of the night was Mourinho’s magic door which apparently leads from the Inter dug out to who knows where...

As José Mário dos Santos Félix said, "My dugout is a special dugout because we have a door which gives me the chance to leave it directly,"

Debate has raged all erm lunchtime. Does it lead to Narnia? Is it a secret route to Jose’s secret 300 Euro wine stash? Or does it lead, as we’ve long suspected, up his own arsehole?

We report, you decide....

Two for one...

We’re not feeling particularly inspired today, perhaps it was all that laudanum we had for breakfast, but the muse has deserted us as quickly as Liverpool’s fading title credentials.

Reasons to be cheerful? Well at least our beloved Hornets won a relegation six-pointer on the weekend, leaping salmon-like up the table towards the mediocrity which we truly deserve.

Elsewhere? Surrender Monkeys! Surely it’s a bit premature to be handing the title to Man United already with something like 13 games to go? Sure they’re odds-on favourites, but that’s being as defeatist as an Italian tank commander’s eve of battle speech.

We also note with sorrow the absence of The Fred from the Fourth Test, an omission England feel they need to cover by the call up of at two players in Amjad Khan and Ravi Bopara. Truly the Fred is at least four players in one... stock and shock bowler, big hitting biffer and assured elder batting statesmen, plus hands-like-buckets slip fielder. One question for the ECB are they sure they’ve brought enough?

Finally on to matters of taste and decency.

We haven’t got any. Hope that’s cleared that up.

No Result

Ah Friday, slack prelude to a weekend of lethargy when the week’s toil is nearly over and we can look forward to unfettered alcoholic indulgence unencumbered by such sordid considerations as rising before midday.

And it’s vodka and cornflakes for breakfast on Saturday and Sunday!

Ahem, anyway, more from what’s shaping up to be a pulsating test series over in the Antigua as following the debacle of the Sir Viv stadium, England and West Indies decamped to the historic ARG for a truly pulsating encounter.

England were probably denied a deserved victory, but the Windies at bay were defiant and held on by their very fingertips for the narrowest of draws, the outcome decided by a solitary tail-end wicket.

Games like this prove why Test cricket is still the pinnacle of spurting achievement and its why the undeniably flashy, though ultimately shallow Twenty20 version will never truly replace it.

This was a game that had been slowly brewing all week, simmering gently until it was ready to spill over with five days of unremitting labour, sweat, courage, technique, style, nuance and not a little luck all contributing to a magnificently inconclusive conclusion.

It’s paradoxical no doubt, but this was one of the most exciting draws ever, an example of the greatest game at its very finest.

Long Spoons

We’ve got a bit more time today so we can afford to first sharpen, then plunge our knives in freely.

Our plate de jour? Well once again it’s none other than ‘Big’ Sir Al Stanford, the Texan ‘saviour of cricket’ who’s done a flit with 8 billion stuffed down his trousers (and let’s face it, they must be quite roomy trews).

It’s only now we can fully appreciate our wise old Gran’s advice about ‘if you’re going to sup with the devil, be sure to use the longest of spoons’.

Fortunately English cricket hasn’t been stung too badly financially and shock horror, even the counties are talking about lobbing back their share of the Stanford pile (no biggy for 50k you might say).

Still, the whole episode reveals we should at least be grateful for small mercies and in this case, we can wave a hearty ta ta to the whole shabby, tacky, sordid Twenny Twenty for Twenny episode, which can finally be put to rest like an unloved, incontinent pet that regularly soils the furniture.

Still that’s not much consolation to the Antiguans who’re looking down the longest of barrels and it’s in their honour we’ve composed this Pimpernel style verse for Sir Al (with apologies to Baroness Orczy).


They seek him here
They seek him there
Those FBI agents seek him everywhere.
Is he in Panama?
Is he in Peru?
He’s made off with your wonga,
And they haven’t a clue.

For Sale

We're in a bit of rush today, what with that cursed real work n all, so instead of our usual mix of awful puns, strained similies and a liberal sprinkling of knob gags, we're going to offer you a small selection from the World of Spurt Classified sections:

For Sale
Soul of English cricket, has been on loan to wealthy mustachioed Texan 'benefactor', but now returned as unwanted gift. Normal offices closed due to criminal investigation, so please dial 1-800-MASS-FRAUD and ask for big Al,


Pedal Power
Stand out from the crowd with this highly unique one-of-a-kind black and gold Trek road bike. A real speedster though pedals show signs of excessive wear. Comes with specially adjusted saddle and own Human Growth Hormone carrier attachment. Urgent sale, buyer to collect. Email: lancesride@backofalorry.com

Back from the dead

We’re a misanthropic curmudgeonly bunch of bastards on the whole here at the Spurt - it’s not so much an outlook as a totally ingrained way of life.

Yet even our cold, flinty inhuman hearts were defrosted just the teeniest little bit last night by the triumphant rebirth of Eduardo, Arsenal’s Brazilian-born Croatian striker, who celebrated his return from a horrendous year-long career-threatening injury by banging a couple past Cardiff.

Okay easy meat perhaps but it was as heart-warming as watching a lickle orphan being reunited with their long-lost, rich (and hopefully not too paedo) uncle after years of neglect.

Altogether now aaaaw....

Anyway with Walcott due back any moment and even Cesc on the road to Wellville, the question is being asked: could the Arse mount a late spurt for the title?

Answer: erm nope, but it might at least ensure a top four finish and piss on Martin O’Neill’s chips. Should be an interesting run in for the also-rans.

Elsewhere: England from 51 all out to 566-9 declared in just seven days? Choose your mainstream media cliché from the list below:

1) Zeroes to Heroes
2) What a Difference a Week Makes!
3) Colly gives Windies the wobbles

Answer 3) Obv - we're wasted here you know...

Slackers

Okay we admit we’ve been slacker than a smack addict’s jaw over the past week or so, but you can hardly blame us for going into hiding following that ignominious 51 all out last weekend, as England crumpled to a sorry, woeful defeat in what can only be described as a ‘Fox score’*.

Oh and we had some proper work and shit to do too.

A lot can happen in a week, it’s a long time in politics, a positive age in sport and an absolute eternity in Spurt, and wouldn’t you know it, in the time elapsed we’ve managed to clock our first anniversary tour of duty in Blogistan.

Yup it was precisely one year ago yesterday on the 15th Feb 2008 when we first spurted on an unsuspecting world’s face and along the way we’ve pushed the bounds of taste and decency, got a few decent chaps to scribble a line or two, managed to get away with the odd telling line or our own and no doubt fired as many blanks as a testicular cancer victim.

So a big thank you to you our loyal readers (both of you) for your continued and ongoing support. We’re going to wipe away a teary tear now and listen to the second day of the cricket, but rest assured we intend to come back, faster, quicker, stronger and possible more saucy (if that were possible) in our annus secondus.

So happy birthday to us and let the spurting recommence!

*This is an internationally recognised unit of cricketing ignominy, derived from the sorry performances of England’s worst ever team** The Fox and Hounds UCC.

**Wow we don’t get to do two stars very often, bonus. This epithet was bestowed by that bastion of investigative journalism The Daily Telegraph.

Crack of the Whip...

Spare a thought to today for Big Phil Scolari and 'Little' Tony Adams, twin casualties of the managerial credit crunch, both released into the bleak midwinter and probably down to their last million.

Okay perhaps your sympathies aren't wholly engaged by the travails of wealthy men in the current financial clime, when you're forced to survive by throwing your last orphan on the fire. But, unlike Max Mosely it's difficult to believe either man has had a fair crack of the whip.

Adams certainly cuts a sympathetic figure: having to step into 'arry's shoes mid season was a tough act to follow at the best of times, but to have financial uncertainty your constant companion and two of your best players decamp to Spurs and Real Madrid can't have helped either.

Scolari on the other hand: well this was the big boss we looked to, to challenge Sir Alex's death grip on the silverware and yet now he's gone in just over half a season? Madness. His reign promised so much, but delivered very little. Dressing room dissent, a failure to capture key signings like Robinho to revive the Blues aging squad and Abramovich looking like he couldn't give less of a toss all means we've been denied a chance to see Big Phil make his mark.

If the Premiership can eat up and spit out a manager of the Scolari's calibre, what hope is there for anyone else?

51 All Out

The lack of posts recently has not been down to just our perpetual laziness, oh no, although truth to tell there's enough of that to whitewash all the dark matter in the universe. Nope we've been hiding our head in shame and wondering just what we should say about England's abject surrender to the Windies on Saturday. Fortunately we don't have to as spurting regular Steve B has felt compelled to pen his own. Don't worry though, we'll be right back with something snide to say on Big Phil and Big Tony's sacking, but for the moment over to Stevie B and the England post-mortem.

Perhaps – while perusing CNN in their Caribbean hotel – the England cricket team saw the tragic news of the wildfires claiming hundreds of lives in Australia, and decided to think up a way of returning smiles to the faces of those poor, demoralised Aussies. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for Saturday’s comically inept batting performance. It’s just a pity that they also managed further to depress another already suicidal nation – their own one – in the process. Perhaps Bill Frindall saw it coming, although his solution was a bit drastic.

So, what is to be done with a bunch of players beginning to resemble the cast of Carry On Cricketing? I predict two changes for the Second Test against the Windies – Shah for Bell and Anderson for Harmison. Everyone pretty much agrees on that – Bell’s mental disintegration is so advanced it’s a wonder he can remember to tie his shoelaces (although, perhaps one of England’s 16 support staff does that for him?) and the likelihood of Harmison getting his old zip back is roughly on a par with that of Osama Bin Laden embracing Catholicism.

If only England had a coach, they could get him to think up some excuse for sending Bell and Harmy back home, thereby allowing them to draft in replacements. Face it: given where Bell’s head is currently at, he’d probably drop the drinks on the way out to the middle. And Harmy would, as ever, rather be in Geordieland with his kids. Ravi Bopara’s absence from the Caribbean is a scandal and, as has been pointed out ad infinitum, Michael Vaughan still has a central contract. Granted, the cupboard of up-and-coming quickies is bare. But at least the bowlers’ performance was merely insipid, as opposed to embarrassing. And there are two replacements for Panesar – Swann and Rashid – although the latter won’t play due to his inexperience. If England lose the nest Test, though, they might as well whack him into the side, on the premise that he couldn’t do any worse. It will be interesting to see whether Swann comes in for Panesar, Monty has talent, for sure, but is actually getting worse as a bowler. He hasn’t bowled well for England for years, and Sabina Park, as Benn demonstrated, was an absolute Bunsen burner. He has to go, too – even despite Swann’s mauling in the warm-up match.

In an ideal world, if you were an England selector, you’d want to drop Strauss – I’d fancy bowling at him at the moment, but he’ll survive because he’s the newly anointed skipper – and Collingwood, the 21st century Nasser Hussain, a man with no talent but a gingery scrapper’s mentality. At least he’s a decent fielder – but fielding is pretty much all he has brought to England for a while now. Sidebottom’s bowling was startlingly mediocre, but at least he’s a leftie. How could England have come to such a pass that, having dropped three players, you then have to cast around for flimsy excuses to keep three others in the side?

England have been consistently, frustratingly awful for years now – which kind of makes a mockery of the “selectorial consistency” argument. So radical action is called for. As Strauss’s form is so poor he doesn’t merit a place, I’d call up Rob Key to captain and open the batting with Michael Vaughan. Followed by KP at number three, then Shah, Bopara, Flintoff and Prior. The bowling line-up is more problematic, but I would have the following at numbers eight to 11. Broad – first name on the team-sheet, obviously. Rashid (he can bat a bit, and all the Windies pitches are low and slow these days), Swann, Sidebottom, Anderson. Just a mere seven changes from what will henceforth become known as the 51 All Out Team, then.

Shot Selection

As Britain enters a second ice age and we shiver in our hovels and gently thrust another couple of copies of Shortlist onto the fire, it's been a boon to be transported the Carribean and the familiar rhythms of Test Match Special as it resonates across the airwaves redolent of sunshine and rum punch.

A strange first day for England in the opening Test, winning an important toss and then contriving to almost throw any advantage in all too unfamiliar fashion as they were subject to examination by twin spin and a new Windies star, the redoubtable Sulieman 'big' Ben.

Surreal stuff and naturally cricket, with no sense of irony whatsoever, brought KP and The Fred to England's rescue, the supposed dress room adversaries combining well to turn around a dire start.

Much of course has been made of KP 'throwing' away his wicket on 97, by attempting to bring up a ton with a huge six, when he'd have apparently been better advised to nudge it in singles.

Absolute rot of course. KP is a showman, a natural entertainer and earned the right to have a heave by the 97 runs he'd accumulated before getting out. Naturally if he does it all the time, teams will target this tendency, but right now he's England's premier batsman by a mile and we'd be deep in the brown stuff without his efforts.

Keep playing it your way KP.

Anti-Climax

It’s Tuesday the day after transfer deadline day and while we should be absolutely bursting with gobsmacking signings to dissect, instead the window has closed with a clang every bit as inauspicious as a fortune cookie which reveals ‘You’re are about to die ...from eating a poisoned fortune cookie’.

When the biggest news is that Spurs have bought back three players they used to own six months ago, you know it’s not exactly been a thriller and as for the Arshavin deal, well could you just get on with it already?

(BREAKING EXCLUSIVE: Arshavin will take the number 23 shirt, courtesy of top spotter Mitch, who has a mate who was stalking Arshavin at the Elstree village hotel last night).

Yet even on that bombshell, we’re seriously starting to lose the will to live.

Robbie Keane has our sympathies though: whether he simply couldn’t play in the system/was second choice behind Gerrard/Torres (not an ideal place to mount a challenge for a regular starting slot) or was simply a victim of Benitez flexing his muscles, we’ll never know.

Probably all three and we wish him well back at the Lane.

Nope the most interesting story today has been the hundreds of shocked Americans who’re complaining because their cable station started broadcasting porn during Sunday’s Super Bowl.

There’s just no pleasing some people.

Bongs away

Hats and indeed bongs off to human dolphin Michael Phelps Beijing Olympic darling and lest we forget, eight times gold medallist, who’s been News-of-the-World-ed (ie. resolutely, routinely and royally fucked) by the erm premier British scandal sheet.

While the Screws always a distinctly unpleasant aftertaste in the mouth, there’s no denying it has more scoops than Baskin Robins and always gets its man (and its story).

Phelps caught sucking on a bong the size of a large oboe has been caught green-handed and despite not admitting that it was stuffed to the brim with prime reefer (why else would you be toking on it?), most discerning viewers will realise that it had more skunk than Louisiana home cooking.

Phelps said: “I engaged in behaviour which was regrettable and demonstrated bad judgement. I’m 23 years old and despite the successes I’ve had in the pool, I acted in a youthful and inappropriate way, not in a manner people have come to expect from me. For this, I am sorry. I promise my fans and the public it will not happen again.”

Our advice? Keep on toking Michael, if you can win eight Golds doing that stuff in the off season, if you go completely drug free no one else will have a sniff.