Something For The Weekend (212)

Fired up by pheromones.

I felt rather sorry for big John Carew last week (but not too much), when his desperate search for a pick-me-up, led him to seek a late night session of female pheromone immersion, at some gentleman's club, called The Rocket. As ever, some upstanding member of the public thought the right thing to do was to shop him and Big John got his rocket, plus a hefty fine the size of a third-world country's trade-deficit.

As a striker he might reasonably be expected to spend time sniffing around the box but unfortunately, this plea for mitigation did not wash with Mart the Maestro. Obviously, having to report to the headmaster's office, involves a certain loss of dignity but luckily, as he'd made no boast about Andrew Sachs' granddaughter, the papers tired of the story very quickly, but boy, did they make a big thing of it, while it lasted.

Obviously, if a player needs that late-night tomato juice, he'd be much
better off going to a gay bar. The places might be annoyingly full of journalists but no footballer in the history of the world has ever been snitched on, after indulging a Daily Mail journalist, with the last dance..

It was a little bit unprofessional of our John and definitely not quite up to the standards, we have come to expect from Villa players. As is well known, the paragons who terrorised the First Division and then Europe, were all teetotal and not only did not a single drop of the demon drink ever pass their lips but they were always in bed by nine. Or, so they say.

Anyway, bearing in mind Big John's preferences for a pick-me-up, I won't be sending him a bottle of Old Spice, for Christmas this year, I will be getting him a bottle of Vulva instead. And, I really hope he likes it.

(google for details)

Strangely, Johnny boy's misdemeanour, actually seems to have helped Villa find a slightly serendipitous change of tactics, which gives the manager options, and makes Villa less predictable. While, starting him on the bench means he's still going strong on ninety minutes, which is not always guaranteed. There are not many marathon runners who are built like John and dragging such a huge frame around the pitch, inevitably must take its toll, especially when he's carrying 80kg of centre-half on his back, for most of the game.

Its at times like this, when players might start to imagine that they might be feeling tired, that O'Neill's bigger squad begins to look crucial because no player can ask for a rest without running the risk of losing his place, and I am sure the Villa gaffer will be using this to gee up those who might be tempted to convince themselves that they are tired.

Meanwhile, Gabby me babby is showing some sweet form, despite the worst intentions of the Ajax goalkeeper, and his goal and two assists against Wigan totally eclipsed the contribution of England darling, Heskey. By the time Gabby had finished off Blackburn, with a goal straight out of the Thierry Henry finishing manual, Erdington's own was beginning to look well worth a start against Germany, in the up and coming England friendly.

Gabby and Hitzlsperger on the same pitch - what a sight that will be.

Villa may have looked a bit off colour against Blackburn, who out-passed Villa by some way, but even those who might still be thawing out their extremities as we speak (it was a chilly night), can't deny the truly amazing run of form over the last few weeks. A run of form, which might have prompted certain journalists to try and upset the apple-cart with their 'footballer caught in nightclub' headlines, and which has left me in a permanent state of total gob-smackedness. Disbelief, ain't in it.

They now have a little respite from the grind (John Carew), before they take on Newcastle in the land of Julio Geordio, where Joe Kinnear now gives team talks, using scripts rejected by Guy Ritchie, as too cockney, but at least his opinion of the press, is about right. And, Villa fans might be reminded by the sight of Joey Barton, what a really naughty boy looks like, and that sitting in the dark watching some wench do unfeasible things with her bottom, is rather less serious than serial GBH.

Not as though I get too excited about Joey but there was one thing I couldn't get off my mind this week, and that was the absolute certainty, that the Villa fan who nearly had the eye out of a referee's assistant, the other week, will boo him as a bad b*stard.

Some things are so predictable, you can't help but chuckle.

Things like Harry Redknapp giving an interview not very long ago, saying how Portsmouth was the best club he could think of, and how he was totally contented and would never leave. Or, was that Southampton? But just to prove that being a tw*t is no impediment to being a very good football manager, I fully expect Tottenham to finish in the top half of the table.

Football - it can drive you up the pole and down again, and habitually leaves you thinking - what an arse!