Robbo's 2009 predictions (part 1)
It's time for Robbo to give you mirthless masses (try saying that after a Dubonnet or two) his predictions for 2009.
So here comes the first six months (with the rest to follow next time)...
Archives for December 2008
Robbo's Christmas presents
Christmas is a time for giving and, as it turned out for a shifty bloke at the end of our road, receiving - he's at his Majesty's pleasure now.
But it's time to dole out some Yuletide cheer to the great, the good and the grumpy of the world that is Sport.
Feel free to recommend owt else you can think of.
Mickey Mouse in Japan
Oh no, not another mid-season non-event designed by Fifa's financial wing to spin a few more yen their way. What the heck are Man U doing travelling halfway around the world to play Gamba Osaka?
The was flattering to the inevitably 'plucky' Japanese side - and now United face some mighty powerhouse of a side from Ecuador (who are notoriously poor at sea level but ruddy fantastic over 2000m).
Club World Cup my backside. I see it also features an Egyptian side (presumably deploying a 4-3-2-1 pyramid formation) and Adelaide (with their 1-2-3-4 formation - 'cos it always goes the opposite way round in the Southern Hemisphere, doesn't it?)
My faith in the public is restored
Wasn't it great to have a really worthy list of contenders for the ? No need to tug our forelocks to the monarchy this year. Or give the award to some heroic loser.
I was a bit worried by the size of the studio, me. No wonder they call it the . There was one point where I swear the lad Lineker was in the same building but at least 13 miles from the stage. Bill Kenwright'll be wondering whether he can lay some turf in there, I'm sure. Forget Knowsley, Bill, there's your answer! (Just tek the roof off when Bolton visit.)
Then there was the flying car that descended from the ceiling and you wondered whether or was going to be in the driver's seat. I'm not sure why was hitting balls into the sea, mind. , well, I could understand that, but Murray usually gets the ball in court.
Incey Whingey
A lot of attention was focused on Paul Ince at Ewood Park on Saturday.
Incey reminds me of that bloke who'll tell you he's not paranoid 'cos people really are all out to get him. against hard-tackling no-nonsense Man U bigmouths who no-one really liked. Get over yourself, Incey.
My mate Tony Thompson, a smarter man than me, says the reason Keane left was that he found himself stuck in a book by a bloke called . He woke up one morning and discovered he had been transformed into a shy retiring little creature. Quinny didn't want him to scuttle off; the fans didn't want him to go home and lay into his mutts either. Keane walked. He possibly even flounced.
Look out doggies, Daddy's home!
Am I the only one who thinks that ? It's all very well raising up a set of misfits by their bootstraps and lifting them from , but to take a running jump just because of a bad trot seems to me to be a little bit, well, yeller. There's not been a more feeble exit since back in 2000.
He may be a man of but I thought he was made of steel, this fella. Let's face it, he's one of the scariest men ever to strap on a pair of boots. In fact the biggest surprise of his very brief managerial career was that he appeared on the touchline without someone having chained him to the dug-out on a leash and shouting 'No, Keano, down! Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttt! Bad dog, mad dog!'
You've got to hand it to Ron
Congratulations to Cristiano Ronaldo. No one else could've (although given it means Golden Ball, Becks should've really bagged two of them by now).
He's rightly chuffed and given there's hardly a thing he can't do with a football, I'd go so far as to say he's the best player the Premiership's ever seen. There were nicer ones (Zola), smarter ones (Bergkamp), sleeker ones (Henry) but none has approached Ronaldo's speed of movement, ability in the air, and wobbliness of free-kick.
All of which might explain why Fergie couldn't quite bring himself to call the lad a dozy plank after his on Sunday. Fergie may have fought tooth and nail to keep Senor S-S-Studio Line at OT, but the post-match defence of the gelled tumbler bordered on the laughable.
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About this blog
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.
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