Managers, eh? How do they manage? Lest I should be berated for the same old same old, let's be clear. . Thumped like they were last year at the Emirates by United in the Champs League.
Wenger's frustrations were many:
1. Disallowed goal for foot-up on Cech. He's watched it four times has Arsene and he can't see what it's about. Well, Cech nearly got tonked on the neck by a high boot so the ref gave a foul. Me, I wouldn't give it, but the modern goalkeeper is a rarer and more protected species than the Giant Panda and the decision was hardly surprising.
2. No penalty for Vela. Well this was because it WASN'T a penalty kick. Vela was crowded out and did that thing that your modern forward does when he's going nowhere - he stepped on the spectral banana skin and hoped - and you can injure yourself badly if you keep hitting the deck with your fingers crossed.
3. . The club v country debate looms largest when it's deprived a manager of a very influential player. But I don't buy this one. Players can get injured at any time. I don't think the Dutch national team have any vested interest in seeing Van Persie crocked either.
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Liverpool. Great city, terrible week. It's an interesting time for the .
There was no great escape for the Reds as they stumbled past the might of and then stood in forlorn hope of a late late Lyon goal that might save their bacon. Unfortunately Insua and Skrtel weren't in the Fiorentina line-up so the goal never came.
Hansen and Lawro would've been growling about how that's not 'the Liverpool way', but at the moment it's the only way.
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Harry Redknapp says Jermain Defoe Put a jam roly poly and custard in front of yours truly and I'll prove him wrong.
Nevertheless is impressive stuff. There are times when Defoe looks right up there with the best.
His movement is brilliant, he's got that sheer greed you need as a striker (you can just see him in the school playground hanging around the opposition keeper and taking the glory for the tap-ins) and he's got a bit of pace to boot.
Sometimes he could do with picking his spot rather than just wellying it, but it's hard to argue with Redknapp right now. He was clinical enough against who's probably having counselling this morning.
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It's come to this, boys and girls. , a man who lit up our league with runs so mazy you'd expect to find them at , the King of the Va Va Voom, charming, eloquent, possibly a bit up himself but you can forgive that... a player whose cut-in-from-the-left-curl-it-in-to-the-far-corner finishes almost have his patent on it, has cheated his team into the World Cup finals.
I'm in a state of utter shock. I remember to win a free-kick from which France scored a winner against Spain and I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Well, not anymore.
It's not good enough to say 'I handled it, but I'm not the referee.' It's like an admission of guilt from a petty thief when he knows it's too late for the police to arrest him.
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. He never really convinced, and there was always summat a bit whining about his pre and post-match conferences that suggested being a member of his squad might mean you ended the week chewing legs of tables as Burley whirred on at you.
Nevertheless, there is no doubt that even with andup front, this Scotland team couldn't conjure a win from anywhere right now. And the reason is simple. They're more than a bit hopeless.
If James McFadden is your major creative force then you're in deep doo-dah. Johnstone, Dalglish, Souness, Gemmill - they all seem a lifetime ago. If you're Scottish, thank the Lord the 91Èȱ¬ Internationals aren't still on.
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I can't help feeling sad for the lad Luke Young, at the age of 29.
Undoubtedly these are difficult times for him having lost a much-loved brother over the summer. Nevertheless he apparently made his decision in February. Aston Villa are said to be annoyed by the enquiry as to his availability but I am not sure they need to be.
Speaking as someone who still occasionally wakes from a euphoric dream in which a fit and fleet Robbo has been plucked from obscurity to replace a shot-shy Lampard or a groin-tugged Gerrard during a vital World Cup fixture - and gone on to curl home the winner from 25 yards - I find it right difficult to understand why any player wouldn't want to pull on that jersey.
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There weren't many surprises this weekend. after a pretty laboured performance. Another Blues winner featuring more jersey-tugging than your average Channel Island dairy farm.
even though he missed it by millimetres and he wasn't offside anyway.
And of course the
Frankly the Beeb get off lightly when the Glasgae Groan won't speak to them. If it's not Wiley's waistline, it's Atkinson's positioning.
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Such is the confusion with Fernando Torres's health that when I read the words in relation to the poor bloke this week, I assumed it was some striker from Atletico Madrid that Rafa had signed up to replace the ailing superstar.
But I have sympathy with Benitez at the mo. The makeshift 11 he put out in Lyon did him proud, really. His only real error appears to be putting Voronin on the pitch from the outset. It's a good surface to play on already without adding more fertilizer.
Then again, Babel's wonderful strike could hardly have been predicted. It was as shocking as finding the sonnets of William Shakespeare under the arm of Kerry Katona. Or the revelation that . More foreseeable was the .
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I'll say one thing for Phil Brown - at least he's not walked already. (Keegan would be off with his ball tucked under his arm and a damp hanky dabbing his eyes.)
for the next game but refuses to go any further, you must know what's coming. That's not a vote of confidence, is it? It's a vote of indifference.
It's been a long while since that foil-wrapped chocolate orange of a manager has shown us his sunnier side. He arrived radiating all the vibrancy of a terrace packed with Dutch supporters but nowadays he looks more like a tangerine mouldering in a fruit-bowl.
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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.
